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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001459">Salvation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutecumber_flower/pseuds/cutecumber_flower'>cutecumber_flower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Peaky Blinders (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alfie Loses His Memories, Canon Divergence, Developing Relationship, Feelings, M/M, Pining, Series 4 Episode 6, Slow Burn, Tommy Helps Him Recover, Tommy/Alfie/Tenderness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:01:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,134</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24001459</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutecumber_flower/pseuds/cutecumber_flower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Alfie doesn’t remember, Tommy. From his concussion or something," Ollie said over the telephone. “Did you know he hit his head? He took a bullet to the face but it’s a damned rock that got him.”</p><p>Why was Ollie telling him this? Tommy didn’t need it, didn’t need any of this bullshit right now, and not ever.</p><p>He wanted to scream.</p><p>  <i>In which Tommy helps Alfie recover from amnesia. It saves them both. — Series 4, Episode 6 canon-divergence from the scene at Margate. </i> </p><p>  <b>Bonus artworks added &lt;3</b></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ada Shelby &amp; Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>152</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>319</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Sholomons Prompt Fest 2019</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">



        <li>In response to a prompt by
            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/weeo/pseuds/weeo">weeo</a>  in the  <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Sholomons_Prompt_Fest_2019">Sholomons_Prompt_Fest_2019</a>
          collection.
        </li>
    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story starts at the scene in 4x06, with Tommy and Alfie at Margate. This is where the canon divergence starts. It's a slow-burn, but I hope it will be a rewarding journey!</p><p>Update: Added a mood board :D that was fun to make.</p><p>Find me on Tumblr at <a href="https://strawberriez8800x.tumblr.com/">@strawberriez8800x</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    
  </p>
</div><p> </p><p> </p><p>Two bullets; two guns; two people.</p><p>The exchange of gunfire happened within the space of a heartbeat and suspended the world to a halt. For how long—a few seconds, or a few minutes?</p><p>Didn’t fucking matter. What mattered was Tommy managed to rise to his feet when the world resumed, and Alfie did not.</p><p>The dog was licking Alfie’s face, crying for its owner to respond. Tommy’s bullet had missed its mark—having carved a path along Alfie’s cheekbone rather than through his skull—yet it seemed to have done enough damage to incapacitate him.</p><p>It might as well have been the killing blow, for there was nobody else around but Tommy to drag Alfie from the brink, and he wasn’t planning to do so.</p><p>Tommy’s mission was done. The knowledge of this job finished left a bitter taste in his mouth, like rust. And it spread, like an infection—until Tommy was forced to acknowledge there was no victory here, only defeat on either side; it was only a matter of time, and Alfie had the fortune to meet the finish line first.</p><p>So Tommy turned around and started walking. Each step was heavier than the last, as if he was chained to an anchor; when Tommy slowed to a stop, it was but proof he<em> was</em> chained after all—to an anchor by the name of Alfie fucking Solomons.</p><p>Even in imminent death, Alfie still had a pull on him.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>So Tommy turned around again and started walking, though this time, it was in the right direction—or not; only time would tell.</p><p>As Tommy approached Alfie’s unconscious body, he found himself wanting to see Alfie dead as much as he wanted him alive; dead because Tommy would finally be able to put the fucking mess that was the past few years to rest; alive because for all the bad blood there had been between them, Tommy had liked the fucker.</p><p>When he reached Alfie, the dog was still whining over him. Kneeling beside Alfie on the sand, Tommy checked his pulse on his wrist. His heart was still beating—not quite faint, but a little erratic.</p><p>As he studied Alfie’s face, his choices were clear; here, now, Tommy could put him down for good, and Alfie would thank him for it.</p><p>Yes, Tommy could. He <em>should</em>.</p><p>But—he couldn’t.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Tommy muttered under his breath. “Fuck you, Alfie.”</p><p>Hastily, Tommy fashioned a haphazard tourniquet out of his vest for the wound on his arm. Having quelled his own bleeding, Tommy managed to haul Alfie to his feet and sling Alfie’s arm over his shoulders, which was an accomplishment in itself because the man was a fucking log<em>.</em></p><p>The walk to Tommy’s car took ten times longer with dead weight in tow. After hoisting Alfie into the backseat and letting Cyril into the front, Tommy drove to the nearest hospital.</p><p>There would no doubt be an onslaught of questions at the state of their arrival at the Margate Hospital; thus, after Tommy had pulled up by the entrance, he dragged Alfie out of his vehicle, shouted for help, and left before anyone could stop him.</p><p>It wasn’t until Tommy was two streets down that he realised Cyril was still in his car.</p><p>He sighed.</p><p>Perhaps a new pet wouldn’t be amiss.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>By the time Tommy returned to Arrow House, it was well into the evening.</p><p>Try as he might, he couldn’t quite escape the keen eyes of Frances. In usual circumstances, Tommy returning with a wound wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary. This time, however, he was two days into his supposed retirement, and the last thing he ought to have done was to get shot and leave it mostly unattended for the five hours worth of driving from Margate to Warwickshire.</p><p>“Mr Shelby,” she said, beginning to fuss, “shall I fetch the doctor?” She didn’t quite wait for his answer before reaching for the telephone.</p><p>Tommy dropped onto the nearest chair he could find. “There’s a dog in the car. Tend to it,” he mumbled, closing his eyes, and let himself drift away.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Tommy came around an hour later, the first thing he did was telephone the Aerated Bread Company in Camden Town. Ollie picked up on the second ring.</p><p>“Alfie is at the Margate Hospital after I put a bullet in him. See to him if you wish,” Tommy said and ended the call without hearing Ollie’s response.</p><p>The telephone rang almost immediately after. “Did you try to kill him?” Ollie asked.</p><p>“Only because he wanted me to.”</p><p>There were no more calls after that, so Tommy spent the rest of the night in what sliver of peace his mind would allow.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy awoke before the sun. In the darkness of his bedchamber, there was nothing around him or in his mind, and so there was repose if only for a moment.</p><p>Was Alfie dead?</p><p>The thought jarred Tommy from a dazed state to one of crippling awareness, like diving head-first into a lake, and the only way out was through—through what? What the fuck was Tommy supposed to do now except find Alfie and confirm he was, indeed, dead or alive so Tommy could <em>rest</em>? God fucking damn it.</p><p>Alfie was still a bloody thorn in Tommy’s side even when he was dead.</p><p>No—Alfie couldn’t be dead. <em>Better not be</em>. Tommy had fucking dragged him all the way from the edge of Hell to the hospital and the hospital—wasn’t it meant to be some sort of salvation? Or did such a thing not exist for men like them?</p><p>Tommy added that to the list of questions he would ask whatever higher being when the time came.</p><p>His fingers itched to pick up the telephone and ring for the Margate Hospital, but he thought better of it, and lay back down instead.</p><p>Tommy didn’t sleep again, yet he stayed in bed until the sun rose to its highest point in the sky, until the rest of the world went on without him, until Frances barged into Tommy’s room with a look on her face as though she feared Tommy had died.</p><p>If only.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Two days later, the telephone rang.</p><p>“Alfie’s alive,” said Ollie’s voice through the line.</p><p>Had he called just to tell him that? What the fuck was the point?</p><p>“Are you there?” Ollie asked.</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“I figured you might want to know, considering you bothered to save him.”</p><p>But Tommy hadn’t <em>saved </em>him, had he?</p><p>“All right,” Tommy said.</p><p>There was a pause before Ollie continued, “He’s—he’s going by Alfred Kent as far as the hospital is concerned. Laying low, you understand. I chose some nobody’s name, something no one would remember. I’m only telling you, in case you wanted to go.”</p><p>Again—why?</p><p>“He doesn’t remember, Tommy. From his concussion or something, the doctor said. Did you know he hit his head? He took a bullet to the face but it’s a damned rock that got him.”</p><p><em>Why </em>was Ollie telling him this?</p><p>Tommy didn’t need it, didn’t need any of this bullshit right now, and not ever.</p><p>He wanted to scream.</p><p>“Doctor says it’s likely he will remember again, and there’ll be a nurse with him. But it’ll help if there’s a familiar face.”</p><p>Sighing, Tommy squeezed his eyes shut. “And you’re telling me this because?”</p><p>“Because I know Alfie liked you. He respected you. And he talked about you all the fucking time.”</p><p>Tommy ended the call.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Tommy found himself at the Margate Hospital, he didn't know how it had happened; it’d do him well if he didn’t care either, so he didn’t.</p><p>He also didn’t care about the way his heart lurched at the sight of Alfie on the bed, bandages covering the left side of his face and wrapping around his head. He was out, doped up on morphine by the looks of it, which was just as well; Tommy couldn’t—just fucking <em>couldn’t</em>—handle Alfie’s particular brand of snark at the moment.</p><p>He just wanted peace, and the sight of Alfie alive, sleeping the pain away, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths—it almost gave Tommy that; thus, having assured the nurse that he was a mere visitor and not the person who had come to finish the job, he let himself into the room.</p><p>The world faded to an afterthought when the door closed behind Tommy, and he could very nearly fool himself into thinking there was nothing but them in this corner of the universe. The thought soothed him somewhat, like a simmering hearth in the middle of a cold, cold night, and there was nothing else Tommy wanted but to edge closer and closer until the fire licked at his skin and burned away his flesh.</p><p>Might even be a comfort, that.</p><p>Tommy sat beside the bed and wrapped his fingers around the flame.</p><p>Alfie’s hand was warm in his, so Tommy held on, for as long as time would allow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time passed as though laden by a journey underwater, its passage revealed only by the shifting shadows on the walls from the sun’s descent.</p><p>Beside Alfie’s unconscious form, Tommy rose from his chair, tracing Alfie’s face with his gaze as if for the first time; the mid-afternoon light caressed his features in a way Tommy had never seen before, and wasn’t it peculiar that Tommy was only made privy to such ethereal a sight after he had tried to kill—no, <em>had </em>killed Alfie?</p><p><em>He doesn’t remember, </em>Ollie had said; what was a man but a walking corpse without the memories—the identity—behind him?</p><p>“You’d thank me after all,” Tommy said to Alfie, his words falling on deaf ears yet satisfying all the same, and he left the room.</p><p>Outside, the wind was gentle. It was quiet in Margate even at this time of the day—the very antithesis of London. <em>A piece of Heaven</em>, Alfie had called it, and Tommy couldn’t bring himself to deny the sentiment; if this little coastal town was the closest they would ever come to a place like that, would it be so bad?</p><p>It would certainly be more than they deserved.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy arrived back at Arrow House after sundown.</p><p>“I’ll be gone for the next few days,” he said to Frances later that evening. “If there are any visitors, I’m playing golf with some fucking Lord or another.”</p><p>“Where will you be heading, Mr Shelby?”</p><p>“Charlie. Is he in his room?”</p><p>“About to go to bed, sir.”</p><p>When he reached Charlie’s room, the boy was on the floor, playing with a wooden horse. Tommy sat beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Charlie,” he said, to which Charlie halted and met his gaze, “my friend is sick and he needs my help, so I’ll be away for a little while. Do you promise to be good with Frances?”</p><p>Charlie nodded, turning back to his toy. “When will you be back?”</p><p><em>I don’t know. </em>“Soon,” Tommy said instead. Meant the same fucking thing in the end. “Go to bed, lad.”</p><p>“Will you read me a story, dad?”</p><p>He began to mutter an excuse, then thought better of it. “All right. Why not?” So he did, and Charlie listened with attention that waned by the minute, until he was fast asleep.</p><p>That night, Tommy packed for Margate and left before sunrise.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Alfie drifted in and out of stupor for the next few days. Once, when Tommy was in the room, Alfie had wafted back to the world, morphine blanketing his eyes like fog over water, and mumbled a few lines of gibberish that Tommy could only hope to understand. Soon after, he'd ebbed into another bout of unconsciousness, and Tommy hadn't known—still didn't—when he would awake again.</p><p>On the fourth day, at a telephone, Tommy dialled for the Aerated Bread Company; if nothing else it was for a purpose more productive than lingering beside a man who didn’t seem too intent on pulling himself together.</p><p>“Alfie’s house at Margate,” Tommy said just as Ollie answered. “Give me the address.”</p><p>“You’ve gone to see him then.” Ollie sounded a little surprised, as if he hadn’t been the one to urge Tommy to visit in the first place. “Have you talked to him?”</p><p>“No. Just give me the address, Ollie.”</p><p>It was a short drive to Alfie’s house. Tommy arrived in front of a building by the beach, not too far from the pier—from the place at which so much had changed. The house was white, of Georgian architecture, and certainly large enough to accommodate a man and a few servants.</p><p>It was difficult for Tommy to picture Alfie living in a place so domestic. Then again, it was difficult for him to imagine Alfie being anywhere but his quaint office in Camden Town...</p><p>As expected, the building was locked. Where the fuck would Alfie even keep the keys—under the flower pot? Perhaps Ollie would have them, though it was rather late for that; thus, Tommy walked to the back of the house and smashed open a window. The sound of shattering glass pierced through the silence with surprising intensity. He’d forgotten how quiet it was here. Had anyone heard?</p><p>Nonetheless, he’d done far worse than break into a house.</p><p>There was no furniture inside, or at least in the vicinity that the window had led Tommy into; the kitchen was bare, and so was the sitting area by the front door. It didn’t take much to infer the reason Alfie hadn’t furnished the house; he hadn’t expected to live after all, which raised the question—why bother buying the place then?</p><p>Perhaps Alfie had wanted what little repose he could have before meeting his fate at the pier; Tommy would never know—Alfie too, probably.</p><p>It wasn’t until he climbed up the stairs and saw a lone chair in the balcony that he wondered what he was doing here, but he’d been doing many things ever inexplicable lately; what was one more, or two, or everything else he might do for the rest of his life, for that matter?</p><p>As Tommy wandered through the bare corridors and rooms, he could imagine the scene all too easily: an armchair in this corner, a lamp to the right, perhaps a shelf along this wall with some ornate tapestry over faded paint.</p><p>There was a mattress in the centre of the master bedroom, and only that. The window next to it overlooked the beach, and when Tommy closed his eyes, he saw it, clear as glass—Alfie laying here the night before he’d met with Tommy at the pier, smoking a pipe with rum in hand and Cyril beside him.</p><p>If this was Alfie’s idea of Heaven…</p><p>Well, the least he could’ve done was to get himself a fucking bed frame.</p><p>The thought made Tommy’s throat ache with a strange sort of loss. He swallowed it down.</p><p>When he exited through the back door of the building, there was an old woman standing yards away, staring at him with a key in her hand.</p><p>Had he gone into the wrong house?</p><p>“This is not what it looks like,” Tommy said, voice even. “I’m a friend.” He should just fucking go <em>now.</em></p><p>She regarded him with not so much consternation as mild bewilderment. “If you’re dear Alfie’s friend, why would you be burgling his house?” For someone who thought Tommy was committing burglary, she was awfully calm—a trait that came with age, surely; no fucks left to give and all the better off for it.</p><p>...had she mentioned Alfie?</p><p>“You’re his neighbour,” Tommy muttered, more to himself than her.</p><p>“I came around when I heard a window shattering. How peculiar.” She squinted at him with curiosity until he cleared his throat, then she asked, “Are you Thomas Shelby?” It seemed he didn’t need to grant her an answer, for she continued as though having received some sort of confirmation. “Alfie talked about you, he did. Said I’d recognise you if I ever saw you. Something about pretty eyes.”</p><p>Could the day get any fucking stranger?</p><p>“Right.” He started to walk towards his car.</p><p>“Do you know when Alfie would return?” the woman asked, to which he paused and glanced back at her. “I do miss his lovely dog...”</p><p>“I don’t know. I don’t.”</p><p>As he entered his vehicle, the woman raised her voice to reach him. “Are you going to fix that window?”</p><p>He didn’t bother with a response before driving away.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Alfie awoke two days later; by the doorway, Tommy’s breath hitched in his chest at the sight of Alfie in a state more lucid than Tommy had seen since their confrontation at the pier. Felt so fucking far away, that. Might as well have been another life.</p><p>The nurse switched between checking his vitals, scribbling on her clipboard, and fussing over his bandages. Tommy had been studying them, all the while in silence, as he lingered in the corridor. Over her shoulder, Alfie noticed him at the door and their eyes met for a heartbeat, then Alfie’s gaze slid away without interest as his attention returned to the nurse.</p><p>His lack of recognition stung Tommy more than it should have; frankly, what the fuck should he have expected but this? He wasn’t special by any means, and even if he was—for whatever bloody reason that had prompted Alfie to ask to die at his hands in the first place—the matters of physiology would hardly be concerned by a thing like sentimentality.</p><p>After the nurse had departed, Tommy quietly let himself into the room, feeling all but naked with uncertainty that verged on debilitating. All the same, he willed an air of indifference and hoped that was enough.</p><p>Tommy sat in the visitor’s chair—the same one he’d used earlier in the week when he’d all but clung onto Alfie as though for his own fucking life. Had that really been mere days ago?</p><p>“Good afternoon,” Tommy said.</p><p><em>Yeah, it is</em>—Alfie would have responded, once.</p><p>Now, he only stared at Tommy with raised eyebrows. For a prolonged moment, he didn’t speak until Tommy wondered if he was still high on morphine after all, then he said, “Are you one of these mysterious figures in my past life, right, who’s supposed to give me hope, or I don’t know, help me when the doctors can’t like you’re some fucking unicorn?”</p><p>Just like that—just like that, Tommy’s dread began to fade a little.</p><p>“I’m no doctor, Alfie, and I’m no unicorn either.” He met Alfie’s gaze wholly, for the first time since Margate.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing here then?”</p><p>Tommy shrugged, lighting a cigarette. “What the fuck are you going to do about it?”</p><p>“I could ask to have you removed, couldn’t I?”</p><p>Tommy took a drag on his cigarette. “Do it then, go on. But know that I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after. And the one after that.”</p><p>Scowling, Alfie narrowed his eyes at him, like Tommy was one of the many missing pieces to his puzzle, and perhaps he was. “<em>Why</em>?”</p><p>“How much do you remember?” Tommy asked as he leaned back against the chair.</p><p>“My name, which isn’t Alfred fucking Kent by the way. Who the fuck came up with that? And Camden Town. Bread.”</p><p>In other words, fuck all.</p><p>“Someone fucking shot me,” Alfie said, sounding more offended than anything, “if they tried to kill me, right, you’d think they’d want me dead enough not to miss like this. Fucking pathetic.”</p><p>“Do you <em>want </em>to be killed?”</p><p>“Don’t be silly. How’d you get that?” Alfie fell silent, studying Tommy with tempered confusion, before he said, “If you insist on staying, don’t you think I ought to at least know what the fuck your name is, mate?”</p><p>Tommy rose to his feet and closed the gap between them. “Thomas Shelby,” he said, extending his hand, which Alfie shook rather tentatively. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but under the circumstance, it really isn’t.”</p><p>And so, that afternoon, they met for the first time, again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you've any thoughts, I'd love to hear from you :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimer: This story glosses over medical technicalities, because I’m not an expert in the field whatsoever. I hope it is acceptable. Now, on to the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the visitor’s chair, Tommy procured a magazine from the table beside him and began to idly flip through the pages. The inquiring stare from Alfie sat like a phantom weight upon Tommy, though not quite unpleasantly; perhaps, in the past, Tommy <em>would </em>find this unpleasant, this—this aureole of nothing-made-fucking-sense. Now, he was simply relieved.</p><p>Relieved that Alfie hadn’t died after all, that his state of mind wasn’t nearly as bad as Tommy had feared, that they were even speaking—admissions he would take to his grave, likely.</p><p>But Tommy was here—had been here for the past week. Fuck, he <em>was </em>the reason Alfie was even breathing. What else was there to admit?</p><p>“So, Thomas,” Alfie said after his patience had run thin, which was to say—not long after, “are you always this fucking coy, right, or do you simply enjoy the suspense of it all?”</p><p>Tommy glanced up at him. The bandage around Alfie’s head had been removed now, though the one around the left side of his face remained. It was—nice, to be able to observe more of him.</p><p>“<em>Who</em> the fuck are you, mate?”</p><p>Being at the receiving end of such a question from Alfie was, frankly, odd when their partnership had hinged on the basis of who had the better solution. A different time, that.</p><p>Tommy considered his words. “A business partner,” was what he decided on. “Back when we still—practiced.”</p><p>“Must be a rather lacking one, eh? Seeing as I remember fuck all about you, not at all, yeah.”</p><p>That was the crux of the matter, wasn’t it?</p><p>“We had some disagreements,” Tommy said, shrugging.</p><p>“Bad blood? Hardly surprising, isn’t it now, hmm? You see, what does surprise me, right, is the fact that a business partner, who I’d surely fucked over in some way or another, is here visiting me.”</p><p>“Water under the bridge, Alfie.”</p><p>He frowned at Tommy, as if furthest from convinced. Words of rebuttal seemed to form on his tongue, though fell short upon the nurse’s quiet entrance.</p><p>“Sorry to interrupt,” she said with a cordial smile, “but the doctor advises that visiting hours be kept short, as Mr Kent—” Alfie’s scowl deepened at the mention of his alias “—needs all the rest he can get.”</p><p>Tommy stood from his chair. “I’ll be on my way.” Pausing at the door, he glanced over his shoulder at Alfie. “Have a good night, Mr Kent.”</p><p>Alfie’s parting gift was but a glare, which felt to Tommy all too familiar, and that—that was…</p><p>The line of thought faded as he walked out of the Margate Hospital.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Within the four walls of a strange room at a strange inn, Tommy stared up at the ceiling from the bed, just as he had for the past few nights, waiting for the shadows to morph into oblivion after what would certainly be hours later.</p><p>It was quiet here, too much so that the ceaseless ticking of the clock seemed louder by the minute. Tick, tock—a heartbeat—tick, tock—</p><p>There was nothing Tommy wanted more than to rip the clock from the wall and fling it out of the window. Instead, he rolled out of bed, shrugged on his coat and left the inn with his car key.</p><p>After pulling up in front of Alfie’s house, Tommy studied the building before him. In its solitude, swathed amidst moonlight beneath the starry black sky, it did seem almost befitting the afterlife. If not the afterlife, then at least a respite from all that was.</p><p>But—what now?</p><p>Before Tommy could change his mind, he exited his car and slipped into the house through the window he’d broken a few days ago. His suspicion about the electricity having been disconnected was, fortunately, disproved when the lights came to life upon the flick of a switch, casting a warm glow throughout the interior.</p><p>Tonight, he didn’t wander around the house and, instead, proceeded directly towards Alfie’s room. Inside, it was dark, and the lone bed by the window remained. Propelled by an inexplicable curiosity—because, really, what the <em>fuck—</em>Tommy climbed into the bed—<em>Alfie’s</em> bed—and draped his coat over himself.</p><p>Perhaps he would come to acknowledge the utter foolery of it all tomorrow morning. Good thing then, that the cover of night quelled the madness of such actions, because here, now, the sound of breaking waves and the scent of Alfie were the only things Tommy knew—would ever want to know if he could help it—and he slept.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>For the first time in recent memory, Tommy rose after the sun. The morning light met him square in the eye through the large, naked windows, loud and brazen and all too bloody bright.</p><p>Curtains. Fucking curtains. Tommy noted to himself to acquire them if there ever came a time for him to fix up the place. Ignoring the fact he’d fallen asleep to Alfie’s smell of all fucking things, Tommy began the day.</p><p>When he left the house through the back door, Alfie’s neighbour—the old woman Tommy had encountered—called out to him from her side of the fence. “Good to see you again, Thomas.”</p><p>“Hello,” Tommy said, barely stopping, as he headed towards his car.</p><p>“Have you fixed the window yet?”</p><p>He sighed and slowed to a halt. “No.”</p><p>“Alfie would not be happy to see that when he comes back, you know,” she said, shaking her head. “Would you like some waffles and tea?”</p><p>He regarded her tentatively, a refusal at the ready.</p><p>“Surely there’s no harm in breakfast,” she continued. “Why don’t you spare an old widow some company, just for a few minutes?”</p><p>“Fine.” Tommy let himself through the unlocked fence, and joined the woman at her table on her porch.</p><p>After introducing herself—properly, this time—as Agatha, she poured him a cup of tea and served him a plate of waffles. Why she’d made them for more than one person in the first place, he’d never know.</p><p>He took a sip of tea. “Why are you so sure he’d return?”</p><p>“Oh, I’m not. I only hope he will.” Loose strands of grey hair that had fallen from Agatha’s bun swayed in the mild breeze. “He gave me his key, Alfie did. Said he’d be back for it someday, and if he didn’t, I could keep it along with the house. Arrangements were made, he told me. Though God knows what I’d do with the place.”</p><p>“Stop burglars, apparently.”</p><p>She studied him without a word, dark eyes keen and gentle at once. “What happened to Alfie?”</p><p>“He’s sick. And I’m—helping him recover.”</p><p>“That’s lovely,” Agatha said, a kind smile brightening her face. “And surprising to Alfie, I’m sure. He mentioned he’d no family, so I did wonder…”</p><p>“You two talked a lot, eh?”</p><p>“When two people are alone in the world, isn’t it only logical to come together?”</p><p>Tommy shrugged, glancing away. “I suppose.”</p><p>“But he’s not alone, is he? I see that now.”</p><p>What was he to say to that?</p><p>Tommy remained silent and finished his drink.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ollie was visiting Alfie at the hospital by the time Tommy arrived. Lingering by the door, he allowed himself a smoke and waited, though it wasn’t long before they noticed his presence.</p><p>Turning around, Ollie said to Tommy, “I was about to go actually. But can I have a word, since you’re here?”</p><p>Tommy questioned him with a subtle raise of his eyebrows.</p><p>“You two better not be fucking plotting behind my back,” Alfie called from his bed, to which neither of them paid any heed.</p><p>Ollie and Tommy headed towards the hospital cafeteria and settled at an unoccupied table.</p><p>“There’s something you should see,” Ollie said as he dropped a large envelope on the table between them.</p><p>Tommy appraised the lad before him. There was an assurance Tommy hadn’t remembered seeing in Ollie; he was no longer the whimpering kid at the distillery who’d cowered at Tommy’s negotiation tactic with a make-believe grenade. A result of being forced to take up some of the reins since Alfie’s departure, most likely.</p><p>With his cigarette tucked between his lips, Tommy opened the envelope and found papers detailing Alfie’s medical test results from the London Hospital: a blood test, biopsy, and several imaging tests. They were dated a few weeks back—just before Margate. Tommy skipped past the rubbish and went straight to the end, where the summaries indicated Alfie’s cancer had shown signs of partial remission.</p><p>“He got these tests done not long ago,” Ollie said. “Didn’t bother to wait for the results this time, clearly. Tired of the same old news, I’d guess, except it’s not old news, is it?”</p><p>“No, it’s not.” Tommy’s gaze returned to Ollie. “Does he know?”</p><p>“He doesn’t even remember he has fucking cancer, Tommy. Maybe he suspects—he’s not daft—but the doctor says to take it slow. A gentle stream of information, not a bursting dam so to say.”</p><p>“And the doctor is aware of these results, I assume.”</p><p>“I’ve given a copy of these to him, yes,” Ollie continued. “Says Alfie will have come in for periodic checks, and hopefully further treatments won’t be needed. But this—this is good, Tommy.”</p><p>Indeed, it was.</p><p>Tommy took a drag on his cigarette. “You’re doing a lot for him, aren’t you?”</p><p>Shrugging, Ollie said, “He made me who I am.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After Tommy had parted ways with Ollie, he tossed the envelope in his car before returning to Alfie’s room. The nurse was just finished removing the last of the bandages on Alfie’s face when Tommy walked in.</p><p>Alfie inspected himself in front of a handheld mirror the nurse had given him. “Nothing like a good old scar, right, to make me more handsome,” he said, sounding amused. “And this glass eye, too. Fuck, it’s weird.” He squinted into the mirror, studying his prosthetic eye.</p><p>Beside Alfie, the nurse gathered her clipboard. “Good news, gentlemen. The doctor has approved Mr Kent’s release, which is due in two days if all goes well. You’ll still be closely monitored by an in-house nurse, with scheduled check-ups with the doctor, but otherwise, you will be good to go, sir.” She provided Alfie a booklet that detailed ‘tips’ on recovering at home, along with the aforementioned schedule, and left them to their devices.</p><p>“Fuck me,” Alfie muttered after she closed the door behind them. “It would’ve been easier if I’d just died, yeah it would.”</p><p>Tommy stared at him.</p><p>“It was a joke, mate,” Alfie said in response to Tommy’s expression. “Cheer up, why don’t you, or are you always this fucking miserable?”</p><p>“You’re not funny, Alfie.”</p><p>Well, sometimes.</p><p>“Funnier than you, at least, though that isn’t saying much, is it? A fucking cardboard cutout of yourself is funnier than you, mate.”</p><p>It seemed the bastard was insufferable even without his memories.</p><p>Tommy could live with that.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>He drove back to Arrow House later that day, and when he’d arrived, the sun was scraping the horizon. Ada was waiting for him in the drawing room with a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other.</p><p>“Who goes away for a week to play fucking golf, Tommy?”</p><p>Toffs, for one.</p><p>“Good evening to you too, Ada.” He sat on the sofa across from her, lighting a cigarette. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”</p><p>Ada set down her novel. “Unlike you, I don’t need a reason to check up on family.” She held him in her gaze until he wondered if she was going to ask her questions at all, before she said, “You haven’t been playing golf, have you? I mean, <em>golf, </em>really? Tell me then, what my dear brother has deemed worthy of his precious time that isn’t the Shelby Company Limited.”</p><p>There was no point in secrecy, was there? Not where Ada was concerned. “Before I continue, I’d like your word on discretion.”</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Tommy. Yes, I’ll be <em>discreet</em>.”</p><p>He appraised her in silence until Ada sighed and rolled her eyes, then he said, “A friend of mine is ill, and I’ve been visiting. Sometimes.”</p><p>“All the time from the looks of it.” Her voice was dry, though it softened when she asked, “Who is it?”</p><p>Tommy glanced away. “Alfie Solomons.”</p><p>She took a moment to ponder the revelation. “The Jewish gangster who betrayed you over and over again? Because that stands to reason.”</p><p>Shrugging, he drew an inhale through his cigarette. “You asked, Ada.”</p><p>Her expression slowly turned from one of confusion to incredulity. “My God, you’re serious.”</p><p>Tommy stubbed out his cigarette. “When am I ever not?” he said, and left Ada to her bewilderment.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love writing Ada and Tommy's interactions! I hope you're enjoying the story so far. If you have any thoughts, feel free to drop them in the comments :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Really, Tommy, you’re going back this morning?” Ada set down her fork on the breakfast table, her stare all but questioning.</p><p>Tommy glanced up at her from his newspaper. “We’ve talked about this, Ada.” He took a sip of tea and returned to his reading.</p><p>“You haven’t heard from Lizzie, have you?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Because you haven’t bothered to, you arse.”</p><p>“No,” Tommy repeated, flipping to the next page.</p><p>She studied him with disapproval that had become all too familiar to him, before she said, “So, you’re choosing to fuck off to God knows where to help a back-stabbing <em>friend</em>, over the mother of your child?”</p><p>“Enough.”</p><p>“Tommy Shelby, father of the year.”</p><p>He met her gaze evenly. “I said that’s enough, Ada.”</p><p>Neither of them uttered another word, and they ate in disgruntled silence.</p><p>After breakfast, Tommy sent for Frances to pack his belongings for the next few days, whilst Ada readied for her return to London. Before her scheduled departure, he proceeded to the guest room she’d been staying in and hovered by the door as she gathered her suitcase.</p><p>Lighting a cigarette, he said, “I don’t want to part on bad terms.”</p><p>“I know. Sorry.” She sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. “This—Solomons, what’s wrong with him?”</p><p>“A bullet to the face. Concussion. Memory loss.”</p><p>She narrowed her gaze at him. “Do I even want to know, Tommy?”</p><p>“Probably not.”</p><p>They receded to a silence more awkward than either of them would like, with Tommy smoking and Ada watching him with concern. Eventually, she said, “Well, at least there’s no chance of you getting killed, is there? Not that it’d stop you if there was.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Ada.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Tommy arrived at the Margate Hospital in the mid-afternoon—honestly, perhaps it’d be good to relocate his entire life to this town at this point—Alfie was in the garden with a nurse, presumably the one who would be his in-house caretaker during his recovery.</p><p>Alfie was in the midst of telling her what was likely some nonsensical story or another as Tommy approached them at the bench. The nurse—Edna, her name tag read—excused herself upon Tommy’s arrival.</p><p>He sat beside Alfie, allowing himself a smoke. The sun beat down through the clouds and caressed his skin. “Good afternoon.”</p><p>“It is a rather fine one, yeah. Was better though, before you chased away my company.”</p><p>“Now I’m the company,” Tommy said, not looking at Alfie, yet feeling the weight of his gaze all the same.</p><p>“A bad one,” Alfie said, scoffing. For a time, he simply observed Tommy without a word, to the point of scrutiny, before saying, “You know, I asked Ollie the other day, right, if he’d known who shot me.” His voice faded to a deliberate pause. “Now, the lad might as well be a stranger to me, but I know this much—he is fucking awful at lying. You know what he said, Tommy, he said…”</p><p>Tommy watched Alfie trail off, raising his eyebrows. “What did he say?”</p><p>Alfie shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “I—I can’t...Fuck.”</p><p>Looking away, Tommy said, “Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>“You don’t fucking get it, do you, mate? How—how do I <em>not worry </em>when I forget what the fuck I’m about to say while I’m fucking saying it?”</p><p>Alfie was right; Tommy didn’t understand. Didn’t mean he would stop trying, though. “All right. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Don’t fucking apologise just to appease me like I’m a fucking child.”</p><p>Tommy sighed. “What do you want from me, Alfie?”</p><p>“Nothing. Fucking <em>nothing</em>, all right?” Alfie said, and walked back inside.</p><p>Tommy watched his retreat, remaining still, and lit a cigarette, which he smoked through more quickly than he’d prefer. He allowed himself only another one before he stopped by Alfie’s room.</p><p>Alfie was reading the recovery booklet with a look of mocking incredulity when Tommy arrived. Closing it, Alfie said, “According to this book, this book right here—which might as well be the fucking gospel if you asked them—I should draw pictures and meditate as part of the ‘road to recovery’.”</p><p>Tommy took a seat on the visitor’s chair. “I’m no expert, Alfie, so I’m not going to dispute any of that.”</p><p>“You can’t deny it all sounds fucking stupid, mate.”</p><p>Shrugging, Tommy said, “Any better ideas?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“There you go.”</p><p>A pause settled between them, one a little too tense for Tommy’s liking. He was searching for a magazine to read simply for something to do when Alfie said, “Sorry. About earlier. I was—I don’t know what the fuck it was, actually.”</p><p>“Forgiven.”</p><p>Alfie stared at him, dubious. “Just like that?”</p><p>“Just like that.”</p><p>Tommy had forgiven him for greater sins, after all.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next morning, Tommy left the Margate Inn and drove into town. There were a few things that required his attention before Alfie’s discharge from the hospital: the broken window at Alfie’s house, its utter lack of furniture and the empty kitchen. Only the first of which was Tommy’s doing, so he wasn’t obligated to see to the latter two, but he was already here; why the fuck not?</p><p>It wasn’t until the afternoon had crept into sunset that the last of the tradesmen walked out of the door, and in their wake was Alfie’s house in a state <em>somewhat </em>befitting habitation.</p><p>Finally.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“I gotta say, I have great taste in location, yeah I do,” Alfie said to Tommy, scanning the landscape, as they exited Tommy’s car in front of the house. “A piece of Heaven, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Compared to Camden Town.”</p><p>“Says the bloke from fucking Birmingham.”</p><p>Tommy felt his mouth twitch into something like a smile.</p><p>Upon entering the house, Alfie glanced around in confusion. “Ollie told me I’d done fuck all with the place.” He turned to Tommy. “Was this you then?”</p><p>From the way Alfie was saying it, one might think Tommy had furnished the place to be fit for a king rather than to the barest minimum.</p><p>“Thanks, mate,” Alfie added, to which Tommy responded with a shrug.</p><p>Whilst the newly-hired housekeeper unloaded Alfie’s belongings from the hospital, Tommy and Alfie proceeded up the stairs. The entire procession didn’t consist so much of them exploring the place than Alfie doing the exploring and Tommy watching him do so. Such a strange thing it was, seeing Alfie discover his own abode as if for the first time, fraught with a subdued curiosity as they wandered from room to room.</p><p>Eventually, Alfie found a pair of binoculars—from exactly where, Tommy had no fucking idea.</p><p>“For watching ships? Fucking brilliant,” Alfie said, grinning.</p><p>Tommy raised his eyebrows. “Interesting pursuit.”</p><p>“What the fuck else is there to do here, mate? And I say that not with resentment but with utter fucking delight.”</p><p>Tommy stared at the device that was clearly meant for two eyes. “Binoculars.”</p><p>“Unless you can grow me another eye, right, kindly shut the fuck up.”</p><p>One would think procuring a monocular would be the better option…</p><p>They spent the rest of the day unpacking and getting Alfie settled in. Edna—the nurse—prepared Alfie’s medicine whilst the housekeeper cooked dinner. Tommy hadn’t planned to stay for the meal, but his plans didn’t count for much these days; thus, stay he did.</p><p>By the end of it, the sun had long retired and the sky was a deep blue-black with scattered stars.</p><p>“Thanks again,” Alfie said at the door. “I won’t lie, Tommy, I still don’t know why the fuck you’re doing all of this, but—well—I shouldn’t fucking complain, should I?”</p><p>Slipping on his coat, Tommy said, “No, you shouldn’t.”</p><p>“Mate, your smugness makes it rather difficult for me to remain <em>civil</em>.”</p><p>“Never asked you to be civil.”</p><p>“Fuck off, Tom.”</p><p>Tommy cracked a small smile. “Goodbye, Alfie.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The next time Tommy went to Alfie’s house, he was in the midst of what was probably a rehabilitation activity with Edna. If said activity looked like…</p><p>Were they planting seeds in the garden?</p><p>“My new way of life dictates that I care for God’s green earth,” Alfie said upon Tommy’s arrival. “It also apparently helps with all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely in the air. “How the fuck it works, can’t tell you. Ask Edna.”</p><p>Something about <em>calming the mind, </em>Tommy remembered reading from that recovery booklet. “What else must you do?”</p><p>“I’m to keep a detailed daily schedule, down to what time I take a shit. Not quite actually, but close. Supposedly, it keeps me from ‘aimlessly passing my time’ and wasting away into, I don’t fucking know, a ghost?”</p><p>“Right,” Tommy said, lighting a cigarette. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”</p><p>“Come on, Tommy, don’t you want to play a part in raising little baby plants?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Suit yourself, mate.” Alfie turned back to his craft. “Go sit under the porch and look all fucking mysterious or something.”</p><p>So Tommy did, at least the ‘sitting under the porch' part; the latter was debatable. Tommy spent the time reading the day’s paper with a cup of tea, whilst Alfie and Edna continued with their gardening. When mid-morning came around, it was time for a walk on the beach according to Alfie’s aforementioned schedule.</p><p>The salt air was warm and humid, lifted by the Margate breeze. It was a rather pleasant morning, so there were a few others on the beach, though mostly it was still quiet; it was Margate, after all.</p><p>“You used to walk your dog here. His name is Cyril,” Tommy said and took a drag on his cigarette.</p><p>“I thought I had a dog, yeah.” Alfie’s eyebrows pulled together in thought. “Saw some canine hairs about the house. Do you think he still remembers me?”</p><p>It hadn’t been <em>that </em>long; of course the dog would fucking remember him.</p><p>Regardless, Tommy said, “We can find out.”</p><p>“You’ll bring him here?”</p><p>Tommy shrugged. “I could.”</p><p>Alfie didn’t say much for a while after that, and neither did Tommy. They simply strolled along the beach, until Alfie said, “It happened here, didn’t it? That’s what they said. Shot at the beach. Dragged to the hospital by… well, that’s one of my many, many unanswered questions, isn’t it?”</p><p>Tommy remained quiet, exhaling a breath of smoke.</p><p>“You know what I think, Tom? I think you know who tried to kill me, mate.”</p><p>Tommy met his gaze, unwavering. “And you think he’ll be back to finish what he’d started.”</p><p>“Well, that’s a fucking logical concern, if I say so myself. Hardly requires much deducing, that.”</p><p>Tipping the ashes off of his cigarette, Tommy said, “He won’t.”</p><p>“And I’m supposed to just take your word for it. Is that it, mate?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck off.” Alfie laughed derisively. “Why should I? I barely fucking know you and you don’t seem intent on changing that, being so tight-lipped about fucking <em>everything</em>.”</p><p>“I’m here, aren’t I?”</p><p>“Fat lot of good that’s doing, yeah.”</p><p>“Things will return in time.” So the doctor said, in any case.</p><p>“Yeah, whatever mate.”</p><p>Of course, Alfie’s patience—or lack thereof—demanded a lot more than <em>time</em>; still, knowing the past wasn’t quite the same as remembering such a thing, was it?</p><p>And when Alfie did eventually remember that Tommy was the one, that Alfie had <em>asked </em>him to be the fucking one...</p><p>Where would that leave them?</p><p>It was a question for another day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed the chapter &lt;3 As always, if you have any thoughts, I'd love to hear from you :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Tommy and Alfie returned to the house from their walk on the beach, Agatha—the elderly neighbour—was waiting by the front door with a plate of cookies.</p><p>“Who the fuck is that?” Alfie asked Tommy rather loudly, though without disdain. From this distance, it was hard to say if Alfie’s exclamation had been overheard by the visitor...</p><p>“Your neighbour Agatha,” Tommy said. “You gave her your house key, before you—” He stopped himself, recalling that Alfie did not yet know, or remember—semantics at this point, really—that he had made preparations to die in his past life. In any case, Agatha had given Tommy the key, so it no longer mattered, did it?</p><p>“Tom, why would I give my key to—”</p><p>“Good morning, boys!” Agatha called out, waving.</p><p>Tommy nodded at her in acknowledgment whilst Alfie waved back hesitantly. As they approached her at the door, she frowned at the sight of Alfie. “Oh, what happened to you, dear?”</p><p>“She’s rather familiar, isn’t she?” Alfie muttered to Tommy.</p><p>Because, unlike Alfie, she wasn’t missing the gap in their time together. Probably best not to say that, though.</p><p>“There was an accident,” Alfie said to Agatha once they were closer, voice softening a touch that Tommy couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at, “and, as a consequence, I don’t remember anything—yourself included, yeah...”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Agatha said gently. “And for your eye too, that must be awful. Poor thing.”</p><p>After a brief look at Tommy, Alfie said, “Thank you. For your concern.”</p><p>She waved off Alfie’s thanks with a smile. “Would you two care for some cookies?”</p><p>As it happened, they did—or at least <em>Alfie</em> did—so Alfie invited her into the house.</p><p>Frankly, Tommy wasn’t sure what was more impressive: Alfie’s ability to file down his rougher edges just like that if only for a moment, or Agatha’s utter lack of interest in the mysterious state of Alfie’s return. Regardless, both factors were conducive to becoming friendly neighbours—again—so there was no harm in either...</p><p>Tommy was about to discreetly excuse himself, when Alfie tugged him back by the elbow and led him to the sitting room—which the housekeeper was setting with tea and Agatha’s baked goods—and Tommy couldn’t bring himself to resist such harmless a thing, so he let it happen.</p><p>“Sit,” Alfie said. “No easy escape for you, Tom, not at all.”</p><p>Tommy glanced at Alfie’s fingers, which remained on Tommy’s arm, and Alfie let his hand fall away lazily. Taking his seat on the sofa, Tommy watched—and occasionally listened—as Alfie and Agatha talked. At times, both of them would turn to him with an expectant look, waiting for a response to a question Tommy had missed, and he would mutter something vague, to which Alfie would roll his eyes whilst Agatha smiled to herself. Since then, Tommy made a little more of an effort to listen.</p><p>It was rather peculiar a circumstance, being here, having tea with Alfie and an elderly woman, yet pleasant all the same—pleasant in a way he hadn’t found at Arrow House, not since Grace...</p><p>“I see you’ve fixed Alfie’s window, Thomas,” Agatha said, bringing Tommy back to the present.</p><p>Alfie turned to him. “You broke my window?”</p><p>“He also slept here one night,” she added with a smile, clearly amused for reasons unknown.</p><p>“Thank you,” Tommy said to her, voice a little sharper than intended.</p><p>Alfie narrowed his gaze at Tommy, seemingly on the verge of asking just why the fuck Tommy would do such a thing, but in the end he simply shrugged and let it slide. Good thing, too, as Tommy would hardly have an explanation ready for Alfie when he didn’t even have one for himself.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After lunch, Agatha returned to her house, whilst Alfie and Edna prepared for a meditation session, which was another part of the recovery plan, apparently. Tommy used this as an opportunity to venture into town; it wasn’t that he was opposed to concept of meditating for <em>others</em>, yet it did seem to him quite ineffectual, so he’d rather do something else…</p><p>At the shops, Tommy acquired some dog food and treats for Cyril’s impending arrival. Perhaps he ought to have consulted Alfie on what Cyril would like, but it was a little late for that.</p><p>On his way back to the car, he came across an optical shop. Through the window, Tommy could see displays of various instruments: binoculars, monoculars, telescopes of different applications; thus, he entered the shop and, a few minutes later, left with a brand-new monocular.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy arrived back at Alfie’s house to Alfie glaring at a piece of paper before him and clutching a pen so hard it was a wonder it hadn’t snapped in two. Edna was beside him, saying words of comfort, something along the lines of ‘it’s all right, we can go slowly’ and Alfie was having none of it.</p><p>“Fuck this,” Alfie said abruptly, setting down his pen, “and fuck you, Edna, for making me do this.”</p><p>“Mr Kent—”</p><p>“Yeah, stop fucking calling me that, actually. My name is Alfie Solomons, not Alfred fucking Kent or whatever the hell the hospital has told you. Remember that.” He stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind him.</p><p>Edna’s cheeks were growing pink, and she looked as though she was about to cry.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Tommy had forgotten how frightening Alfie’s temperament could be to outsiders unfamiliar to it…</p><p>He sat beside her. “Sorry about that. He can be capricious.”</p><p>“That’s all right,” she said, sniffing. She was younger than Tommy had thought—this being the first time he’d really paid attention to her—around Ada’s age, perhaps. “I was going too fast and he got frustrated. It happens.”</p><p>“About his name…” He retrieved his wallet and withdrew from it ten pounds worth of notes. “An apology, and—our gratitude for your discretion.”</p><p>She stared at the money in her hand. “Just...who are you people?”</p><p>“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, eh?” Although it sounded like a suggestion, it was the furthest from one. By the way Edna nodded, it seemed she knew as much.</p><p>With that, Tommy left the house and went to search for Alfie. Tommy found him sitting on the edge of the pier not long after, so he joined him at his side and lit a cigarette.</p><p>They sat in silence, listening to the waves and the seagulls flying overhead, until Tommy said, “That was uncalled for, Alfie.”</p><p>“Fuck off.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>Alfie glanced away. “It wasn’t the worst thing I’d said or done.”</p><p>“No, it wasn’t,” Tommy said, shrugging.</p><p>Alfie sighed and tipped his head back to stare at the mid-afternoon sky. “Imagine, right, imagine not being able to recall a list of five items that you’d seen minutes ago. Imagine that, Tommy. Fucking ridiculous is what it is.”</p><p>Tommy couldn’t imagine it. “Tell me then, Alfie, what it’s like. Being you, now.”</p><p>“Why? It’s not like you’d fucking understand.”</p><p>Tommy breathed in through his cigarette. “Try.”</p><p>Alfie contemplated, and Tommy watched him do so through a mist of smoke he had exhaled. At this angle, the afternoon sun transformed Alfie’s brown hair to a shade of gold, and when he turned to look at Tommy, it was gone.</p><p>“Feels fucking strange, Tom,” Alfie said eventually, “and uncertain. But mostly strange, right, because I’d never questioned myself so fucking much in my life—or what I can remember of it—and it’s just...scary. Sometimes.” Alfie’s voice quietened near the end, to a whisper, and Tommy almost missed it.</p><p>Tentatively, Tommy put a hand on Alfie’s knee and gave it a light squeeze, half-expecting Alfie to brush his hand away, but he didn’t, so Tommy let his grip linger.</p><p>“And you know what’s the strangest of all?” Alfie’s gaze was on Tommy’s touch, and he didn’t wait for Tommy’s response before continuing, “Not remembering what happened with you, Thomas, for you to want to go through all this trouble.”</p><p>Tommy pulled his hand away and took a drag on his cigarette. “It’s no trouble.”</p><p>“See, that’s exactly what I mean, mate.”</p><p>Whatever the fuck <em>that </em>meant…</p><p>Tommy rose to his feet. “Come on. Time to go.” He extended his hand, which Alfie took and pulled himself up, all the while grumbling a half-hearted protest.</p><p>Alfie’s palm was rough and warm against his, then it disappeared, just like that, when Alfie let his hand slip away. The warmth of his touch lingered in Tommy’s fingers throughout their walk back to Alfie’s house. Even when it was gone, Tommy still remembered, and that was—that was enough.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Picked up something at the shops,” Tommy said once they returned to Alfie’s house. He set down the unopened box in front of Alfie, who had just finished his attempt at writing down the list Edna had asked him to fill earlier.</p><p>Alfie squinted at the package, saying nothing, and opened it. “Wow, fucking rub it in, why don’t you?” Alfie held the monocular to his functioning eye and pointed it at Tommy. “I’m joking, silly boy. I appreciate this—thanks.”</p><p>It was rather odd, Alfie being nice.</p><p>“Fuck’s sake,” Alfie said loudly, scowling, when he compared his scribbled list to the neatly-written answers from Edna.</p><p>There, back to normal.</p><p>Though Tommy could get used to Alfie being pleasant too.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy drove to Arrow House the next afternoon. Not too long ago, he would’ve lamented having to make such long drives, though with how the past month had turned out to be, the journey from Margate to Warwickshire had simply become a part of his routine.</p><p>Still, the thought of having his own place at Margate seemed more appealing than ever… But he did have a life back at Arrow House, didn’t he? There was Charlie, and there were memories of Grace. What a shame it was that Tommy’s life at Arrow House and the one at Margate mixed like oil and water.</p><p>It was a problem for another time.</p><p>After Tommy walked through his front door, the first thing Frances said to him was, “There’s letter for you, sir, from Miss Stark.”</p><p>Lizzie…</p><p>“Leave it on my desk,” Tommy said.</p><p>“She’s also telephoned and asked for you, Mr Shelby.”</p><p>Tommy shrugged off his coat and handed it to Frances. “How is Charlie?”</p><p>“He—he misses you, sir.”</p><p>“I’ll see him now, then.” He started to walk away.</p><p>“But he’s asleep…”</p><p>Tommy paused in his tracks. “Of course,” he sighed. “It’s late. Tomorrow morning it is.” Before he left for his study, he asked Frances, “Is the dog doing all right?”</p><p>“Cyril is fine, sir. Would you like me to fetch him?”</p><p>“No need. I’ll be taking him with me when I leave next. Three days from now. Make the necessary preparations.”</p><p>“Yes, Mr Shelby.” She hovered awkwardly, as if there was something else she wanted to say.</p><p>“What is it, Frances?”</p><p>“It’s just...Charlie has grown rather fond of the dog, and—”</p><p>“We’ll get another one,” Tommy said, softening his voice as an attempt to mask the callousness of his words. “Now, I know Charlie will be upset at first, but he will be all right. Has to be.”</p><p>
  <em>Because returning Cyril to my friend will help him, and he needs all the help he can get, so get off my fucking back, why don’t you? </em>
</p><p>Tommy said none of that, naturally.</p><p>Frances nodded, staying silent, probably thinking something along the vein of ‘Tommy Shelby is a fucking awful father’.</p><p>Nothing he didn’t already know.</p><p>He headed to his study afterwards, and sure enough, Lizzie’s unopened letter waited for him on his desk. He didn’t open the envelope and, instead, picked up the telephone and dialled for her.</p><p>Lizzie picked up on the third ring.</p><p>“It’s me,” Tommy said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from the bottle on his desk.</p><p>There was a silence on the line that Tommy wondered if she had heard him at all, then she said quietly, “Tommy...where—where’ve you been?”</p><p>“Busy.” The response slipped from his tongue before he could even think about it. “What I mean is, there’s a reason I’ve been away.” The unspoken questions of <em>who, what, when, where, why </em>hung in the air. “You called, Lizzie.”</p><p>He heard her sigh from the other side. “Yeah, I did.”</p><p>Lizzie didn’t say anything else, so Tommy filled in the silence. “How’s the house? To your liking, I hope.”</p><p>“That’s really it, then?” she asked apropos of nothing. “It’s just me, our baby, and some fancy house.”</p><p>Tommy took a large gulp of the whiskey. It burned a bitter path down his throat. “We’ve talked about this, Lizzie.”</p><p>“No, <em>you </em>talked about it. There’s a fucking difference, Tom.” Although he couldn’t see it, he could imagine the anger twisting her face as she spat out the words.</p><p>He sighed. “What do you want from me?”</p><p>A void question, of course; he knew what she wanted from him. Only he couldn’t give her that, so what the fuck else was there to talk about?</p><p>Lizzie hung up the phone, and Tommy continued to drink.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Sometimes, Tommy wondered if there would be a time where he would ever fall asleep at Arrow House again, because here, now, the prospect felt to him ever out of reach, even with the drinks in his system.</p><p>In the dark, the silence was loud, too loud, such that all he could hear was his heartbeat, his breathing, his thoughts. And there were too many fucking thoughts—here, there and everywhere, running loose in his head.</p><p>Lizzie. Charlie. Grace. The baby. The war, even, sometimes...</p><p>Tommy stumbled out of his bed and headed for Charlie’s room.</p><p>If he couldn’t find peace where his son was, then he would be well and truly fucked, wouldn’t he?</p><p>The boy was fast asleep in bed. As quietly as Tommy could manage, he dropped to the carpeted floor beside Charlie’s bed, almost tripping on a toy, and he passed out to the sound of Charlie sleeping.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is the slowest burn I've written for these two. It’s both gratifying and infuriating at once.<br/>As usual, if you've any thoughts, feel free to drop a comment below &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just want to say thank you for your support thus far! Hope you're enjoying the ride :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Tommy awoke the next morning, the first thing he saw was Charlie’s face, haloed by the sunlight coming through the window behind him.</p><p>If this was a dream, it’d be the first pleasant one he remembered having in a while.</p><p>“Dad, why are you here?”</p><p>A good question, that.</p><p>“Morning to you too, Charlie.” Tommy sat up on the floor of Charlie’s room, and the world spun away beneath him as his head throbbed. He squeezed his eyes shut, holding his head between his arms, trying to keep the relentless pulsing within his skull at bay. “Give me a moment, won’t you.”</p><p>That was how Tommy spent his first morning at Arrow House after a week of absence: nursing a headache from one drink too many whilst Charlie was off at his horse riding lesson.</p><p>It was hardly ideal a situation, yet here they were.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy was trying, he was, even if it didn’t look like much from the outside. Though a father who was indeed trying wouldn’t take away one of the few companions his son had, would he?</p><p>“I don’t <em>want </em>another dog,” Charlie said, holding Cyril close to him. “I only want Cyril.”</p><p>“Charlie, look at me.” Tommy lowered himself to his knees to meet Charlie’s gaze. “Cyril belongs to my friend, and you remember, don’t you, that my friend is sick?”</p><p>Nodding, Charlie buried his face into Cyril’s back. The dog lapped at Charlie’s arm happily, or perhaps in consolation, which would be just as well, because it seemed to be a thing Tommy couldn’t provide his son at this moment.</p><p>“Listen carefully, boy—Cyril will help my friend get better. The kind thing to do would be to let the dog go.”</p><p>“I don’t care about being kind.”</p><p>“There’ll be another dog. I promise.”</p><p>When Charlie didn’t respond except to hug Cyril tighter, Tommy rose to his feet and walked out of the room.</p><p>Alfie would’ve known what to say; he’d always been the better one with words...</p><p>Tommy halted in his tracks. Where had that come from?</p><p>He shook off the thought and the apprehension that came with it, and went to search for Frances.</p><p>“Will you talk to him?” Tommy asked when he found her. “To Charlie. About the dog.”</p><p>Pausing, Frances regarded him with careful eyes. “Of course, Mr Shelby.”</p><p>“You think I’m a bad father,” he said abruptly, not knowing why as he did, “but if there was a way to be both a good father and friend here, I’d do it.”</p><p>“There’s—there’s no need to explain yourself, sir.”</p><p>Frances was right; there wasn’t, not really. But if Charlie couldn’t understand, someone else should—<em>had </em>to.</p><p>“Cyril is needed elsewhere. As for Charlie, he just wants a dog.”</p><p>“I’ll talk to him, Mr Shelby.”</p><p>Tommy breathed a small sigh of relief and regret at once. “Thank you.”</p><p>Later that day, after she had gone to see Charlie, Tommy left the house in search for a new pet for his son.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy spent the next two days at Arrow House with Charlie—when he could, at least, for Charlie seemed more preoccupied with bonding with the dogs than with him.</p><p>It was probably for the best.</p><p>On the morning of Tommy’s departure for Margate, Frances approached him as he was letting Cyril into his car.</p><p>“May I suggest, sir,” she began, and Tommy suspected she was going to make the suggestion regardless, “that Charlie be allowed to say goodbye to Cyril? It’ll help the lad.”</p><p>He was about to decline; closure was, if nothing else, overrated. Then again, as much as he was reluctant to admit, perhaps Frances knew better where his son was concerned...</p><p>“Fetch the boy, then,” Tommy said.</p><p>It was as good a start as any on the path of making amends.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Alfie had just returned with Edna from the Margate Hospital from his check-up when Tommy arrived at his house. The surge of questions within Tommy was surprising to say the least.</p><p>
  <em>How did it go? What did the doctor say?</em>
</p><p>Tommy kept them to himself instead; no doubt it’d do him well to rein back the torrential curiosity to a slow trickle. Not that Alfie would have time to answer Tommy’s questions—perhaps he could ask Edna later actually—because as soon as Alfie had walked in through the door, Cyril all but pounced on him. By the fleeting confusion that passed Alfie’s expression before a grin took its place, Tommy could tell he didn’t remember the dog, though it hardly seemed to matter, for the way Alfie smiled, the way he let Cyril kiss him—that was enough, wasn’t it?</p><p>It certainly was for Cyril.</p><p>“Thanks Tommy,” Alfie said once Cyril had stopped licking his face. “Seems like a good boy, he does.”</p><p>“He is.” <em>And you’ll remember that he is.</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Talk to me about the past,” Alfie said to Tommy later that afternoon, on the balcony, as they let the day pass before their eyes with the sort of nonchalance one could only afford in retirement. “Talk to me about everything and anything. Talk to me about you, mate.”</p><p>Tommy glanced at him, taking a drag on his cigarette. Alfie had a notebook in his hand, and he was watching Tommy not with question, but patience. A strange thing it was, rather.</p><p>“Taking notes?” Tommy asked.</p><p>“Something like that, yeah.”</p><p>“What do you want to know?”</p><p>“Don’t fucking care. Just talk. Or I’ll tell Edna, right, that you’re impeding my recovery, Thomas.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>They sat in silence as Tommy pondered; it was difficult, wasn’t it, finding something to say that the recipient had quite clearly stated his disinterest in...</p><p>“I have a son, Charlie,” Tommy began, eyes on the ocean before them. “He’s four this year. Takes after his mother, mostly. A walking reminder.”</p><p>“What happened to her?”</p><p>“Took a bullet meant for me.”</p><p>Alfie exhaled audibly. “Fuck. Sorry, Tom.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Do you...want to talk about her?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Charlie, then. Tell me about him. Your lad.” Alfie fixed his gaze on Tommy, with his pen at the ready; he’d only written a few words thus far—what though, Tommy couldn’t see. When Tommy remained silent, Alfie added, “Come on, Thomas, the sun’s going to set ten times over by the time we’re finished at this rate, yeah.”</p><p>Alfie was scribbling in his notepad now, and when he didn’t stop, Tommy asked, “What the fuck are you writing?”</p><p>Not bothering to look up, Alfie said, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”</p><p>Tommy snatched the notepad right out of Alfie’s hands, ignoring the indignant ‘Oi!’ from the man, and skimmed the text before him.</p><p><em>Black coat.<br/>
</em> <em>Grey vest.<br/>
</em> <em>Gold pocket watch.<br/>
</em> <em>Has a son.<br/>
</em> <em>Doesn’t smile (or laugh).<br/>
</em> <em>Pretty clothes (vain bastard).<br/>
<strike>Pretty eyes.</strike></em><br/>
<em>Still don’t know why he’s here.<br/>
<strike>Nice that he is, though.</strike> </em></p><p>Tommy met Alfie’s gaze, raising his eyebrows.</p><p>“Observations, Tommy.” Alfie gave a lazy grin. “You’ve got Edna to thank for that, yeah. The next time I interact with someone, right, I should take note of four things about them and recite them from memory, she told me.”</p><p>“These are more than four.”</p><p>“Does it bloody matter, mate?”</p><p>“Easier to remember because it’s me, that’s it then.”</p><p>Alfie barked out a little laugh. “Fucking listen to yourself.”</p><p>A mild heat crept up Tommy’s neck, a traitor to his thoughts. “It’s a fair deduction.”</p><p>“Yeah, fuck off.” Alfie grabbed the note from Tommy’s hand and started to walked away. “Not really,” he added a beat later, glancing back at Tommy over his shoulder.</p><p>Tommy, as requested, didn’t fuck off, and simply lit another cigarette.</p><p>
  <em>Pretty eyes...</em>
</p><p>It was hardly original, this particular observation. Nonetheless, it was flattering, even if Alfie hadn’t meant it as a compliment—or had he?</p><p>Tommy didn’t know why the fuck he was wondering at all.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“If you’re planning to stay at that shithole of an inn again, Tom,” Alfie said, squinting at the crossword puzzle in the newspaper he was reading. Seeming to have solved a word, he grinned to himself as he filled in the blank spaces.</p><p>Tommy watched from the sofa opposite Alfie in the sitting room. The waning afternoon light streamed through the open balcony and caressed Alfie’s face, which was all but a study of textures—a healed, jagged scar on his left cheek, smooth skin on the other, the beard framing his features. What would it feel like under Tommy’s touch? Rough, most likely, and tender, perhaps in contradiction, yet it did seem rather fitting.</p><p>Tommy averted his gaze. “You were saying?”</p><p>“Right, right. I was going to tell you not to bother. Stay here, why don’t you? After all, it sounds like you’re rather acquainted with the place, mate, if what dear old Agatha said was true. And she’s got no reason to make up something like that, has she now?”</p><p>Tommy had been hoping for Alfie to forget that titbit of information... “Sure.”</p><p>“To what? Staying here, or the fact that she’s got a reason to lie after all? Be more fucking specific, Tommy, I truly want to understand you.”</p><p>“I’ll stay.”</p><p>“Yeah, say it like I’m the one doing you a fucking favour, mate.” Despite his words, Alfie was smiling a little as he’d said them.</p><p>“You asked me. So yes, you are.”</p><p>“Smug fucking bastard, aren’t you.”</p><p>Tommy shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”</p><p>“Of course you have.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The sun had long descended. Alfie was watching Tommy settle into his guest room as he leaned against the door frame, arms crossed.</p><p>“Are you going to stand there all fucking night?” Tommy asked.</p><p>“It’s my house, isn’t it, Tom. I can do what I want.”</p><p>Sitting on the edge of the bed, Tommy lit himself a smoke. “You asked me to stay. Why?”</p><p>Alfie shrugged. “Why the fuck not? The least I could do, isn’t it, after everything.”</p><p>“It’s nothing, Alfie.”</p><p>“So you keep saying, right, but it’s not nothing, mate. Know that. Good night.” Alfie closed the door, and Tommy could hear Alfie’s footsteps as he walked down the hallway.</p><p>Left to his own devices, Tommy began the vague motions of winding down for the night.</p><p>The guest bed, like everything else in the room, was modest, though not so much that it was unpleasant—far from it, in fact; Tommy was away from the four walls of his own bedroom at Arrow House, and that—that was a relief he wasn’t ready to admit to anyone.</p><p>Tommy noticed then, that Alfie’s guest room smelled like him—how, Tommy didn’t fucking know, because it wasn’t like Alfie had stayed in this room recently, yet it did all the same.</p><p>So Tommy’s eyes fluttered shut to the sound of his own breathing. If he remained still enough, he could hear, just a little, the waves breaking upon the shore on the edge of his awareness. Was Alfie listening to the same waves on his balcony? Perhaps he’d be in the sitting room, petting Cyril whilst he read, or finishing the last of his prescribed tasks by Edna, or Alfie would be in bed, thinking of Tommy, not unlike the way Tommy was thinking of him, right here and now.</p><p>Such an absurd notion it was, really, yet Tommy couldn’t help but entertain it regardless; thus, he let his reveries wander without refrain—in circles, or haphazard twists. Didn’t matter, for Alfie was at the end of the path no matter which way Tommy turned, and wasn’t that so peculiar a thing?</p><p>At least no one had to know.</p><p>And so, precisely because no one had to know, Tommy let his musings meander down a road he hadn't quite dared ventured, one fraught with the tease of Alfie's entirety, from the way his hands, his mouth, his breath would feel upon Tommy's skin, the way his beard would have just the right amount of coarseness when Alfie dragged his mouth, his teeth, along the length of Tommy's throat.</p><p>It was with this thought that Tommy brought his hand to his cock. In the dark, it was all too easy to allow Alfie to infringe the privacy of Tommy’s mind. He began to stroke, slowly, because if he was going to fuck his hand to such decadence, he ought to make it count. Tommy was half-hard now as he studied Alfie before his closed eyes. How would Alfie’s tongue feel on him?</p><p>No point in wondering when Tommy could imagine it, clear as the fucking day—Alfie kissing him, on the mouth, down his neck, along the skin of his shoulders, and his hand—large and rough and gentle at once—would be on Tommy’s cock, caressing from base to tip, and maybe he might even bring his mouth around Tommy. God, wouldn’t that be marvellous. But Tommy wanted to kiss him, wanted to share their breaths, so he indulged in the worship of Alfie’s mouth upon his own whilst Alfie brought him to completion, faster and faster until Tommy’s breath shuddered his throat as he released into his palm and all he could hear was his gasps and thundering heartbeat.</p><p>For a long minute, there was nothing in Tommy’s mind as his breathing slowed, and the next, he was gone.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>In the morning, Tommy found Alfie in his garden. The air was brisk and still, and there were raindrops collecting on the plants from the rain overnight.</p><p>Without a word, Tommy approached Alfie, who was kneeling by a strip of dirt.</p><p>“The seeds,” Alfie said upon Tommy’s arrival, “they’ve sprouted. Look at them, Tom.”</p><p>Tommy leaned closer, still standing, and peered at the soil. There were indeed little sprouts on the ground, inches apart. “Congratulations.”</p><p>Alfie glanced up at him, eyes narrowed as though gauging for any hint of sarcasm. Satisfied that there was none, he said, “Fucking amazing, aren’t they.”</p><p>Tommy gave him a small smile, shrugging. Alfie turned back to the plants before him, and he was telling Tommy about them now. Marigolds, they were. Low-maintenance, according to Alfie, who in turn had heard from the plant nursery.</p><p>The delight with which Alfie was telling Tommy the story was—enrapturing. Tommy realised then, that he hadn’t been listening to what Alfie was saying, but rather how he was saying it...</p><p>Before Tommy could think about it, he put a hand on Alfie’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, about to let it fall away, but stopped himself when Alfie reached for Tommy’s hand and brushed it lightly. Absent-minded, almost. They remained like so, studying the plants in the morning lull, and it wasn’t until Edna came up behind them with a greeting that Tommy withdrew his touch.</p><p>He glanced at Edna. Her gaze was on Alfie’s shoulder where their hands had met for a minute too long and not enough at once, then her gaze was on Tommy. There was a mild surprise in her eyes, curiosity too, but she didn’t voice her questions, which suited Tommy just fine, because what the hell would he say?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Have a great weekend, everyone. I hope you liked this chapter :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you, thank you, thank you for your support so far! It means a lot &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alfie and Cyril wandered about the garden in the mid-morning light whilst Tommy watched them idly from the porch. Edna had joined Tommy not too long ago, sipping on a hot mug of tea as they sat in a silence that was punctuated by Cyril’s occasional bark or a little laugh from Alfie.</p><p>“Does the dog help?” Tommy asked her, who had put down her mug and was now writing in her book.</p><p>“Anything from his past that might’ve been important to him would help,” Edna said without looking up. “To what capacity, however, is highly dependent on the individual. What we have observed in other patients is that relearned information usually doesn’t provide a sense of personal experience. That comes with time.”</p><p>What the fuck was the point of anything they were doing then?</p><p>“It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,” Edna said, as if privy to Tommy’s unspoken inquiry. “But in the end, patience is what Mr Solomons needs.”</p><p>He nodded and drew a slow breath through his cigarette.</p><p>“You say you’re a business partner of his.” Edna’s words tumbled a little, like she was asking a question that had been bursting at the seams of her curiosity. Curiosity that Tommy would much rather she kept to herself. “It’s more than that though, isn’t it?” she said shyly.</p><p>He cast her a sidelong glance, feeling a brow lift in question. “And?”</p><p>“I think it’s nice,” she said with a smile. “He’s lucky to have you.”</p><p>Tommy declined to comment any further and stubbed out his cigarette.</p><p>Later that morning, Agatha visited with a tray of blueberry muffins and a container of dog treats. Alfie greeted her with Cyril, said she didn’t need to bring food for every visit.</p><p>“Nonsense,” Agatha said as she set down her gifts on the porch table. “It’s my only excuse to make anything decent these days. You boys, and girl—” she smiled at Edna “—help yourselves.”</p><p>So they did. Agatha chatted with Edna as she petted Cyril, letting him lick treats off of her palm. Alfie had returned to the garden, seeming rather deep in thought as he stared at the pots of daffodils before him, and Tommy almost felt as if he was intruding when he walked up to him.</p><p>Who knew flowers could be that interesting...</p><p>Lightly, Tommy asked, “Am I interrupting?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>It was rather unlike Alfie to be of so few words, but Tommy didn't press further, and they lingered quietly as the backdrop filled with Edna and Agatha’s distant conversation.</p><p>“I didn’t know you were a father,” Alfie said eventually.</p><p>Charlie had been yesterday’s conversation; where had this come from?</p><p>“And now you do,” Tommy said.</p><p>“You see, I’m no father, Tommy, and I’ve got no plans to be, but even I know you’re spending a little too much time here and not enough with your lad. Is that all right, mate?” Alfie’s tone wasn’t so much chastising as one of concern.</p><p>Tommy turned away, saying nothing.</p><p>“You don’t need to be here as often as you are, Thomas.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“But you want to be.”</p><p>The question of <em>why?</em> hung in the air, unsaid.</p><p>The thing was—the thing was Tommy suspected his answer to it, yet it did seem rather absurd and insipid and inconceivable that every time Tommy even teased at the thought it felt like dipping his hand into boiling water.</p><p>“Do you want me to go?” Tommy said instead.</p><p>“I’m only saying you’ve got no obligation to be here, mate. In case you thought otherwise, yeah, for whatever fucking reason.”</p><p>“Noted.”</p><p>Alfie shook his head. “You’re a bloody strange one.”</p><p>Being ‘strange’ was something Tommy could live with; utter fucking foolish, on the other hand, was another matter, and it so happened to be exactly what Tommy was feeling at the present. Wasn’t it ever unsettling that he’d been feeling this way more often than not these days...</p><p>“Just so you know,” Alfie said, once again breaking the silence, “you’re welcome here anytime, Tom.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After lunch, Tommy and Alfie—along with Edna—headed into town in search of additional furnishings for the house. Tommy wasn’t entirely sure why Edna had joined them, but she had brought her notebook with her, so he could only assume there was another purpose to their venture.</p><p>As they wandered the streets, it was rather difficult to ignore the way she lingered more than a few paces behind Tommy and Alfie, as though trying to give them space—space neither of them had <em>asked </em>for, and it was nothing if not bloody uncomfortable.</p><p>“Why the fuck are you all the way back there?” Alfie asked her, glancing over his shoulder.</p><p>Tommy was wondering the same thing, but Edna simply waved, and smiled to herself as though privy to some secret.</p><p>Alfie seemed to shrug it off quite easily, though Tommy did wish he would insist because Tommy wanted to <em>know, </em>for fuck’s sake, yet couldn’t bring himself to ask.</p><p>They explored the options available for curtains—or, perhaps more correctly, Alfie did, all the while tossing questions towards Tommy for his opinion.</p><p>“It’s your house, Alfie. I don’t fucking live there,” Tommy said at one point, after Alfie had presented him the fourth option he was considering.</p><p>“Fuck you,” Alfie said, though lightly. He turned towards Edna instead, who shrugged and echoed a similar sentiment, albeit with more politeness. In the end, Alfie settled on some dark embroidered curtains.</p><p>They picked out a few more pieces of furniture: an armchair, another sofa, a coffee table, amongst others. Somewhere along the way, they came across the section with furniture for newborns, and Tommy found himself lingering by the row of cots.</p><p>“What, have you got another one on the way?” Alfie asked him.</p><p>“Yes, actually.”</p><p>Surely Lizzie would have seen to this, or if she hadn’t, she would sooner or later. With that thought, Tommy pressed forward.</p><p>“For an expectant father, you seem awfully indifferent, mate.”</p><p>“Wasn’t planned. But the mother wanted to keep it.”</p><p>“You say it like she’s not in the picture.”</p><p>What the hell was this—an interrogation? Sighing, Tommy said, “Only as much as she needs to be.”</p><p>“Tommy fucking Shelby, breaking hearts everywhere you go.”</p><p>“Are you done?”</p><p>Alfie held up his hands, smirking, and Tommy let it slide.</p><p>By the time they arrived back at Alfie’s house, the sun was skirting the horizon and the sky was turning orange. Edna and Alfie went to the kitchen table. She gave him a piece of blank paper and a pen, and asked him to draw a map of the last shop they had been in.</p><p>“Whatever you can recall,” she said gently, “and it’s all right if it’s not much. We’ll get there.”</p><p>Tommy was observing them from the edge of the room, silent.</p><p>Visibly irked by Tommy’s presence, Alfie turned to him. “Would you fuck off?”</p><p>Tommy was a little hurt by that, in all honesty, but he went to the balcony regardless. He was half-way through his second cigarette when Alfie joined him a while later.</p><p>“Could’ve been worse,” Alfie said after a pause. “Not great, though. But at this rate I’d take fucking anything, wouldn’t I.”</p><p>Tommy glanced at him, wondering what to say. Eventually, he settled on: “Like Edna said, you’ll get there.”</p><p>Alfie gestured with his hand, and it took Tommy a moment to realise he was asking for his cigarette, so he passed it to him, their fingers brushing as he did, and Tommy felt ridiculous for even noticing in the first place.</p><p>After a puff, Alfie said, “Good Lord, you smoke some fucking terrible cigarettes.” He took another drag anyway.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>In the middle of the night, Tommy startled awake, his skin slick with sweat, heart pounding.</p><p>Where the fuck was he?</p><p>He’d never been here before. Was this—</p><p>Alfie’s guest room. Yes, he was here, and not back in France. The tension ebbed from his shoulders upon the realisation, and it wasn’t until his heartbeat had quietened that he noticed the rain outside.</p><p>Sighing, he closed his eyes, listened to the downpour as he waited to recede into nothingness once again. Fifteen minutes later, he found himself more awake than ever; thus, he climbed out of bed and left his room in search for a drink.</p><p>As it turned out, there was none in the house. Not a drop.</p><p>For fuck’s sake.</p><p>On his way back to the room, Tommy noticed the soft yellow glow of a lamp from the sitting room. He found Alfie dozing on the sofa with Cyril passed out beside him, his head half-laying on Alfie’s lap. Tommy thought to wake Alfie and get him to his bedroom. Instead, he sat on the sofa across from Alfie, let his gaze linger on him, then the dog, then back on Alfie.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Tommy, get up.”</p><p>Stirring, Tommy blinked lazily to the sound of Alfie’s voice. Alfie was shaking him lightly on the shoulder, and stopped when Tommy mumbled that he was indeed awake.</p><p>“You’re not fucking twenty anymore, mate. You’ll put your back out sleeping here, and we wouldn’t want that, would we now?”</p><p>It was still raining outside.</p><p>“Why the fuck were you here anyway?” Alfie said. “The guest room exists for a reason.”</p><p>“Went looking for a drink. Found you instead.” Tommy was on his feet now, and they fell into step next to each other as they walked back to the rooms.</p><p>Alfie made a sound in the back of his throat. “Whiskey, rum, gin—not quite the answer, are they.”</p><p>“I’m not looking for an answer, Alfie.”</p><p>“A distraction, then?”</p><p>They were in front of the guest room now, lapsing into silence amidst the half-darkness. Lightning flashed outside the window, followed by a distant rumble of thunder.</p><p>Was this a dream?</p><p>Alfie’s voice was soft as he said, “Go to bed, Tommy.”</p><p>In no reality would Alfie ever say anything so gently, and he was standing so close...</p><p>Perhaps Tommy was dreaming after all, so he stepped closer, and rested his forehead against Alfie’s shoulder for a moment. Just a moment. He breathed Alfie in, remembering the way he smelled, knowing he would never forget.</p><p>“Tom?”</p><p>“Just—let me.” Tommy could barely hear himself, so he wondered if Alfie did. Tommy pulled away, and searched for Alfie’s expression in the dark. “Good night, Alfie,” he said, and closed the door behind him.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The furnishings were delivered the next morning. Tommy and Alfie spent the day setting them up, though the procession mostly consisted of them staying out of the way whilst the tradesmen assembled the furniture.</p><p>They were done by the evening. Tommy was getting ready to drive back to Arrow House when Alfie tossed him a little box, which Tommy caught at the last second.</p><p>“For your lad,” Alfie said. “Picked it up yesterday.”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“Some toy or another. Don’t remember.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Waving off Tommy’s thanks, Alfie said, “Go on now, or it’ll be fucking midnight before you’re home, won’t it.”</p><p>So Tommy left, and sure enough, it was indeed almost midnight by the time he walked through the front door. He set Alfie’s gift next to Charlie’s bed, careful to remain quiet as to not disturb the boy, and returned to his room.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy spent the next few days with Charlie, taking him horse riding, visiting Charlie’s friend at a neighbouring estate, helping him train Buddy, the new puppy.</p><p>“Does Cyril miss me?” Charlie asked one time as he was feeding Buddy. “Because I miss him, dad.”</p><p>“He does,” Tommy said, “but life goes on, Charlie, and sometimes we have to make new friends.”</p><p>The boy nodded, and reached for Tommy’s hand. “I miss you too, when you’re away. But I can’t get a new dad.”</p><p>Tommy remained quiet, and tightened his grip around Charlie’s fingers.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Once, during an afternoon when Charlie was napping, Tommy dialled for Lizzie on the telephone.</p><p>“Hello,” Tommy said when she picked up.</p><p>The line was silent, but he knew she was there.</p><p>“How are you, Lizzie?” he asked, trying again.</p><p>Eventually, she said, flatly, “Never better.”</p><p>“Listen—I didn’t say it last time but I should’ve. I’m sorry. That I can’t do more.”</p><p>She sighed, and he wondered if she had a drink in her hand. “That doesn’t help, Tom. You know it doesn’t.” Unlike their last conversation, there was no anger in her voice this time.</p><p>He didn’t want to listen anymore—couldn’t—so he hung up the phone.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The following days drifted as Tommy went through the motions. When he had a moment to himself, he wondered if Alfie was making much progress at Margate, if he’d been lashing out at Edna, if he’d been keeping Agatha company.</p><p>Sometimes, Tommy thought about calling, though he didn’t. Then again, there wouldn’t be any harm, would there? And he suspected Alfie might even be happy to hear from him, yet...</p><p>The next time the telephone rang, Tommy’s first thought was Lizzie and tried to suppress the rising dread; thus, it was not a little disturbing when he found himself terribly glad that it was, in fact, Alfie.</p><p>Alfie was telling him the doctor had said he could drive now—“About fucking time, isn’t it?”—and that he was starting to remember a few things, here and there, like a faraway dream.</p><p>“I’m going to Camden Town,” Alfie said. “Because right now I feel like I’m fucking grasping at straws, right, and I think, I think if I go, it might help some. Edna says it probably won’t come back like fucking magic, but it won’t hurt and I have to <em>try</em>, don’t I.” Alfie paused. “Come with me, Tom.”</p><p>Tommy ought to be relieved for Alfie, really, yet as he stood by the telephone, there was nothing but a simmering disappointment in the forefront of his mind because—because Tommy had <em>wanted </em>to be present when Alfie had started to remember, damn it.</p><p>Yet it wasn’t too late. It wasn’t. And Alfie was <em>asking </em>Tommy to be there with him, but there was one thing...</p><p>“People may recognise you, Alfie. Likely will, actually.”</p><p>“Which is why I won’t stay for long. Will lay low. It’ll be fine, mate.” Alfie faded into another lull. “What do you say—will you come, or not?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Tommy said, barely getting the word out. “I’ll see you there.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you liked this chapter! This was particularly fun to write :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you everyone for your support. I'm glad to know you guys are enjoying the story so far! This is the longest chapter yet :)</p><p>Big thanks to @keine-angst for letting me bounce some ideas off of her.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Returning to London felt to Tommy like stepping out with a memory, one so distant now it might as well be another person’s life, though it hadn’t been that long, not really.</p><p>“Dad, where are we going?” Charlie asked from the backseat of the car.</p><p>Tommy glanced at the rearview mirror. “To Aunt Ada’s.”</p><p>“I like Aunt Ada,” Charlie said, grinning. “Will we be playing there for the whole day?”</p><p>“She’ll be looking after you when I’m working.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>“I’ll be back, Charlie. Before the sun goes down.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>The boy seemed satisfied with that. Tommy gave him a small smile through the mirror, but Charlie’s attention had returned to the passing landscape beyond the window. By the time Tommy pulled up in front of Ada’s house, it was late morning.</p><p>“You’re early,” was the first thing Ada said to him after she opened the door. Her gaze fell to Charlie beside Tommy, expression turning from mild annoyance to one of fleeting surprise. “Charlie, hello. How are you?”</p><p>Clutching at Tommy’s hand, Charlie returned her greeting shyly, and they went inside. Ada introduced Charlie to Karl’s nanny, and ushered the boys to play in the backyard.</p><p>Before long, Ada joined Tommy in her sitting room, unamused. “You didn’t say anything about bringing Charlie.”</p><p>“I hadn’t planned on bringing him,” Tommy said after a drag on his cigarette. “If he’s such a burden, Ada, I’ll take him elsewhere.”</p><p>“Oh fuck off, Tom. Don’t do that to me.”</p><p>He regarded her in silence, stubbing out his cigarette. “Thank you,” he said a beat later, and rose to his feet.</p><p>She stared at him. “What <em>is </em>the point of bringing your son to London, only to leave him here while you’re off somewhere all damned day?”</p><p>“He asked to come.”</p><p>Ada rolled her eyes, relenting. “Just go, Tommy. Charlie’s in good hands.” She narrowed her gaze at him, as if in contemplation. “What will you get up to in Camden Town?” she asked, though her half-hearted tone suggested she didn’t expect a proper answer from Tommy.</p><p>“I’ll be back for dinner, Ada.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>By virtue of London’s traffic, the drive to Camden Town took longer than it should have. When Tommy arrived at the Aerated Bread Company, Ollie was already showing Alfie around the place. Evidently, Edna hadn’t come along; it’d be more effort than it was worth to explain all of <em>this </em>to her, Tommy suspected.</p><p>“About fucking time,” Alfie said upon Tommy’s entrance. “Thought you’d driven into a ditch, mate.”</p><p>Ignoring him, Tommy turned to Ollie. “It’s quiet.” He gestured around the deserted distillery with a small nod.</p><p>“Closed the place for the day. And tomorrow for good measure,” Ollie said. “Not exactly tight-lipped, this bunch. If word gets out, it’s <em>out</em>.”</p><p>“Fair enough.” Towards Alfie, Tommy said, “What’s the plan?”</p><p>“There isn’t one,” Alfie said, “not unless there’s a textbook somewhere, right, some book that informs in vivid detail, ‘how to regain your fucking memories in ten simple steps’, in which case, do share.”</p><p>Tommy raised an eyebrow. Alfie’s snark was sharper than usual; courtesy to the long drive from Margate, likely.</p><p>They spent the better portion of the afternoon in what used to be Alfie’s office. To both Tommy and Alfie’s surprise, Ollie had kept Alfie’s documents and miscellaneous mementos in a drawer—“Well, you’d sold your London house. What else was I supposed to do with them?” Ollie said to Alfie’s questioning stare upon uncovering them.</p><p>Ollie left them alone not long after. Leaning against the wall, Tommy observed the procession of Alfie scouring through the contents of the drawer, giving each item a once-over—some a bit more thoroughly than others, but rather impassive in general.</p><p>“Nothing?” Tommy said after Alfie put away an envelope.</p><p>“Fuck all.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p><em>Relearned information usually doesn’t provide a sense of personal experience—</em>Tommy remembered Edna telling him, which seemed to be proving correct thus far, yet she’d also said it wouldn’t hurt to try...</p><p>A silence settled over the air once again, peppered by occasional thuds as Alfie tossed aside his past belongings one by one—with apathy at first, then it was replaced by frustration that grew more and more palpable until Alfie slammed the drawer shut with violence that Tommy hadn’t witnessed in a while and the abrupt noise cracked the lull into two.</p><p>“This was a mistake.” Alfie’s expression darkened. “Sorry for wasting your time, Tom.” His voice was quiet; perhaps that was most concerning of all.</p><p>“Alfie.”</p><p>Yanking the drawer open again, Alfie pulled it out completely, tipped its contents all over the floor, and tossed the drawer against the wall so hard that one of its corners splintered.</p><p>Tommy kept silent, let his gaze fall shut as he listened to Alfie wreak havoc on the room. Sounds of broken glass, cracked wood, shattered lamps. Opening his eyes, Tommy saw Alfie on the floor amidst his own wreckage, back against the wall, head between his arms.</p><p>Alfie was muttering to himself something indecipherable, and when Tommy stepped forward, Alfie’s head snapped up. “Stay the fuck away from me.”</p><p>Tommy halted and did as Alfie had asked, but he didn’t leave, simply remained in place as he smoked a cigarette as a distraction if nothing else. It wasn’t until Tommy was finished with it that he tried to approach Alfie again, for Alfie hadn’t moved an inch and Tommy wasn’t sure if he ever would, at this point.</p><p>This time, Alfie didn’t protest at his attempt to bridge the gap; he did, however, tense up ever discernibly as Tommy sat beside him a little distance away to give Alfie space if he wanted it, though close enough their arms almost brushed.</p><p>Neither of them said anything for a while, even as Tommy ached to ask if there was anything he could do to help, but he knew all too well there wasn’t.</p><p>Alfie sighed beside him, and Tommy found himself asking quietly, “What do you need?”</p><p>Alfie didn’t respond for a time. Eventually, he said in a near whisper—“Nothing.” Without another word, Alfie shifted a little closer and leaned against Tommy, their shoulders touching, and their heads almost so. “I hate this,” Alfie said, to Tommy or himself, he wasn’t sure. “Hate myself. Hate fucking everything. Do you understand, Thomas?”</p><p>Tommy’s breath caught in his chest. How was he supposed to respond to that? What did Alfie want to hear? What could Tommy even say to make it better?</p><p>If only he knew.</p><p>Tipping his head back against the wall, Tommy stared up at the ceiling, searching—for what, he didn’t quite know; certainly there were no answers to be found...</p><p>A warmth enveloped Tommy’s hand. Glancing down, Tommy saw that Alfie’s fingers were around his, tentative. Their eyes met for a beat, and Alfie gave him a languid smile, tinged with a silent apology, and Tommy couldn’t bring himself to look away.</p><p>Ignoring his quickening heartbeat, Tommy gave Alfie’s palm a gentle squeeze, and the weight in his chest lifted when he felt Alfie’s apprehension fade away, little by little, until there was but repose in the space between them.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Ollie gaped at the ruins in the room.</p><p>“Uh, sorry?” Alfie said beside Tommy. “It was an accident. Yeah.”</p><p>Pulling Tommy aside, Ollie asked him quietly—though likely not quiet enough, “What the hell happened?”</p><p>From where they had left him, Alfie said, “Ollie, I can fucking hear you, you piece of shit.”</p><p>Tommy shrugged, gaze remaining on Ollie, who seemed resolute on ignoring Alfie for the moment. “Self-expression,” Tommy said wryly. “You’ve seen worse.” They both had.</p><p>“Yeah. I just—I don’t know. I thought he’d changed.”</p><p>Alfie had lost his memories, not his personality. But Tommy didn’t feel like making this particular distinction to Ollie right now; thus, he simply gave a firm clap on Ollie’s shoulder. “Small steps, eh?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy and Alfie left the distillery, walking into the ebbing afternoon light, its glow cast along the streets of Camden Town. Remembering his promise to Ada and Charlie to be back before dark, Tommy was about to leave.</p><p>“Tomorrow will be better,” Tommy said, though his words sounded a little empty even to himself.</p><p>“Because the only way to go is up, isn’t it. Fuck me.” Alfie gave a small bitter laugh, and Tommy didn’t say much to that, only watched him from the corner of his eye.</p><p>They lingered for a moment, unsure what else to say but wanting to say <em>something</em>.</p><p>“Thank you, Tom.” Alfie avoided Tommy’s gaze. “For being here. It helps, I think.”</p><p>“Good,” Tommy said quietly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”</p><p>Alfie nodded, and they went their separate ways.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The moment Tommy walked through the front door of Ada’s house, he heard Charlie’s voice saying, “That must be dad.” And the boy all but tumbled into the hallway with a beam. “It is him!”</p><p>Ada followed in Charlie’s wake. “Well, isn’t that a surprise. Why don’t you boys wait for us at the dinner table?” she said to him, smiling, and off the children went, but not before Charlie gave Tommy a quick hug.</p><p>“You’re good with him,” Tommy said once they were alone.</p><p>“Better than you are, I’m sure,” Ada said dryly, before her expression faltered. “Sorry, that was unnecessary.”</p><p>“No, you’re right.” Tommy shrugged off his coat and hung it by the door. “I want to be better. With him. But…”</p><p>Ada gave him a look that verged on pity, and for a moment Tommy regretted the admission. Fortunately, she changed the subject. “How was Camden Town?”</p><p>“Fine,” he said as they proceeded towards the dining room.</p><p>Ada cast him a sidelong glance. “I remember it’s where the Jew—Alfie?—used to work. Were you with him then?”</p><p>“I was, yes.”</p><p>It was obvious she wanted to press further, but they’d arrived at the table where Charlie and Karl were seated and waiting, so she let it drop. They ate dinner over casual conversation. Charlie filled Tommy in on the day’s proceedings, which mostly consisted of him playing with Karl and reading some picture books from Karl’s collection.</p><p>After dinner, Ada said to Tommy, “There’s a musical tonight at the West End, <em>Through the Looking Glass. </em>The boys would like it, so I was thinking of taking them. Do come, Tommy.”</p><p>There was no harm in that, so he agreed after a brief ponder. In any case, it’d be good for Charlie to see the city after being tucked away in the countryside for most of his life…</p><p>The evening passed in a whirl. The children enjoyed the show, and both of them were knocked out as soon as Tommy pulled out of the car park. After they returned home, the nanny put the boys to bed, and Tommy was having a smoke on Ada’s balcony when she joined him at his side.</p><p>He offered her a cigarette, which she accepted. In silence, they listened to the city beneath the murky black sky, until Tommy said, apropos of nothing, “I’ve spoken with Lizzie, like you asked.”</p><p>Ada stood a little straighter at that. “And?”</p><p>“She knows where we stand.”</p><p>Sighing, Ada said, “Why are you such a fucking arse, Tom?” She hesitated. “Forget it. I don’t want to fight tonight. Just know that you are.”</p><p>“I don’t deny it.”</p><p>“For God’s sake, you’re hopeless.” Ada faded to a pause, and Tommy continued to smoke, until she added, “Everyone still thinks you’ll ask Lizzie to come back, you know.”</p><p>By everyone, Tommy suspected she meant Polly, Arthur, Michael—well, fucking everyone.</p><p>“You won’t, will you?” Ada asked.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“What about your child together?”</p><p>Tommy took a slow puff of smoke. “She will receive all the help she needs. The baby too. And they will have a place with the family, if she chooses. She knows that.”</p><p>“But not with you.”</p><p>Shrugging, he said, “Not with me.”</p><p>Ada kept silent as she waited for further elaboration.</p><p>“I don’t love her,” Tommy added, glancing at Ada.</p><p>“Oh, look, Tommy Shelby, a fucking romantic.” She examined him with narrowed eyes under the night’s glow. “Who is she then?”</p><p>Tommy stubbed out his cigarette. “There’s no woman,” he said, and started to walk back inside.</p><p>“I’m so bloody tired of you evading my questions,” Ada said from behind him.</p><p>“Good night, Ada.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The next morning, Tommy met up with Alfie in Camden Town once again. There was no plan to revisit the distillery, it seemed, for Alfie handed Tommy a list of scribbled locations, which he skimmed over in silence.</p><p>“Pick a few,” Alfie said, “and we’ll go there. Because why the fuck not, right?”</p><p>“What are these?”</p><p>“Apparently, places I used to frequent around here. That, or Ollie is fucking with us.”</p><p>Tommy doubted the latter.</p><p>Alfie continued, “In the end, it makes no bloody difference, does it, if yesterday was any indication of the fact. Might as well just get a day out of it before we return to our sorry lives, hmm?”</p><p>“Never knew you to be a pessimist,” Tommy said, mouth curling up a little, sardonic.</p><p>Alfie snorted. “A different time, mate.”</p><p>That it was.</p><p>So they spent the day visiting various locales detailed on the itinerary, which wasn’t terribly long; Alfie hadn’t been one for too much recreation back in the day, what with running a gang, a distillery, racetracks and protection rackets taking up most of his time…</p><p>They arrived at the last stop in the mid-afternoon, which was an animal shelter on the edge of the district. Tommy glanced down at Ollie’s note in his hand. Next to the address of this shelter, Ollie had written<em>—</em>‘<em>do not go in. owner will recognise. you used to donate to the place</em>’.</p><p>“Why the hell would he bother including it then? Fucking idiot,” Alfie muttered after a glimpse at the sheet Tommy was holding.</p><p>“He means well,” Tommy said.</p><p>“I know, mate. Just let me complain, all right? Lad’s not here to feel all hurt about it,” Alfie said, and stared at the building wistfully. “There’ll be dogs. And cats. And dogs.”</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>They went inside, which was probably an unwise decision, but what the fuck. By nothing but a stroke of luck, the owner was gone for the day, leaving only a few staff members, none of whom appeared to place Alfie’s identity.</p><p>Tommy and Alfie were denied permission to enter the nursery at first—something about having to make an appointment and fill in a form—but with the persuasion of cold, hard cash, they were let in soon after, though one of the workers would check on them every few minutes or so, as if terrified they would kidnap a dog or two when no one was looking.</p><p>When the employee checked on them for the third time, Alfie said to him, “Fuck off. Please and thank you.” The severity of his words was softened by virtue of having two puppies in his arms, who were lapping at Alfie’s hands and up his forearm.</p><p>Tommy watched from the edge of the room, smoking nonchalantly, and Alfie turned to him. “You don’t want one, Tom?”</p><p>Shrugging, Tommy simply took another drag on his cigarette.</p><p>“Heartless bastard.” Alfie’s attention returned to the animals. Another dog, a bigger one this time, approached Alfie and started to lick at his face, with more love to give than Alfie clearly knew what to do with.</p><p>What a day.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy was certain if Alfie could have his way, they would sleep at the shelter overnight. Nonetheless, the place had to shut upon the onset of evening, and with the onset of evening also came rainfall so abrupt and violent the sky was all but collapsing.</p><p>“Fucking hell,” Alfie said, voice barely above the storm’s roar.</p><p>An accurate sentiment, that.</p><p>By the time they made it to Tommy’s car, the street was so flooded the only way they could drive out of here was with the sheer power of optimism, of which there was none, not in such conditions.</p><p>With no sign of the weather abating anytime soon, they walked to the closest inn available, and tried not to soak its interior with the rainwater they’d brought in.</p><p>“Are you fucking kidding me?” Alfie said to the receptionist, who had just informed them of the single room available. “Who the fuck even comes to this place? Enough so that this shitty inn would be full?”</p><p>“Alfie, shut up,” Tommy said, and turned to the poor woman behind the counter. “We’ll take it. Thank you.”</p><p>The receptionist gave them a key and said they would bring up an extra mattress. Tommy and Alfie proceeded to the room, and despite what Alfie had said about the place, at least it was warm, dry and acceptably clean, which was a far step above anywhere else they might’ve gotten on foot.</p><p>After drying themselves up, their clothes remained soaking, which meant their only option was the robes the inn had provided. Naturally, Alfie grumbled a little about how scratchy the material was, before resigning himself to it.</p><p>Several attempts later, Tommy managed to reach Ada on the telephone in the foyer.</p><p>“Won’t be back tonight,” he said.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s a bitch out there. Are you all right, Tommy?”</p><p>“Yes.” He paused, glancing out the window. It was dark outside, and the street was all but empty. “And Charlie?”</p><p>“He’s fine. A little rattled, but fine otherwise.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Are you awake, Tom?” Alfie asked in the darkness, rather loudly, considering the time of night. Then again, it was the only way Tommy could hear him over the storm.</p><p>“After your shouting, yes.”</p><p>“Fuck off. The rain’s so loud I can barely hear myself think, so spare me.” Alfie didn’t say anything for a while, before he added, “Do you want the bed?”</p><p>“No,” Tommy said from the mattress, which was lined along one edge of the bed frame.</p><p>“Suit yourself.”</p><p>There was a stretch of silence, and Tommy was starting to drift when Alfie’s voice brought him back again. “Go to sleep, Tommy.”</p><p>“I’m fucking trying.”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The air was thick with dust, smoke, the stench of blood. The scents blended together into a sickly mess, choking him. The ground shook beneath Tommy. Above. Around. There was nowhere to go. Someone screamed his name, distant, and the voice sounded as though it was raked through a grinder.</p><p>“Oh god oh god no no what the fuck—”</p><p>“Be <em>quiet </em>Jesus do you want to kill us all—”</p><p>“Tommy, Tommy. Mate.” This voice sounded a lot closer.</p><p>Someone was shaking him on the shoulder.</p><p>Tommy opened his eyes, and there was nothing in the dark. It was quiet here, and the air was clean—no dust, smoke, or blood.</p><p>Where was he?</p><p>Alfie was saying something. Tommy’s name. His hand was still on Tommy’s shoulder, an anchor to reality.</p><p>Right. Tommy pressed the heel of his palm against his closed eyes. “Fuck. Sorry about that.”</p><p>“You good?” Alfie had let his hand fall away by now. He was lying on the edge of the bed, looking down at Tommy. “Hey.”</p><p>“Yeah. Fine.” Tommy swallowed, waiting for his heart to slow down. “Fine.”</p><p>“Fuck’s sake, you’re a mess.”</p><p>Tommy tried to squint through the darkness. He knew Alfie was looking at him, but Tommy couldn’t quite make out his expression. “Aren’t we all?” Tommy said after a beat of silence.</p><p>“Mhmm.” Alfie was still watching him. “The rain’s stopped.”</p><p>“I noticed.” It was almost too silent now, without it.</p><p>“Are you sure you don’t want the bed?” he asked, and there was a hint of tentativeness that Tommy wondered if he'd meant for Tommy to sleep next to him...</p><p>“I don’t.” But that wasn't true, was it? Tommy was hardly about to admit it, however; how the fuck would he ever face Alfie the next morning, if they'd shared a bed...but the thought itself was—it was nice.</p><p>There was nothing from Alfie for a while, and Tommy thought he might have fallen asleep, but Alfie’s thumb found its way along Tommy’s arm, started stroking absentmindedly.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Tommy mumbled, his focus honing in on the sensation of Alfie’s touch along his bare skin. It was warm, gentle, and—a little strange. He didn’t quite know how to feel about it, but he knew he didn’t want Alfie to stop.</p><p>“Do you mind?” Alfie asked, pausing.</p><p>“No. Just—I don’t mind.” Tommy reached for Alfie’s hand, hesitant. “Do you?”</p><p>Alfie simply responded by closing his grip around Tommy’s. That was confirmation enough. There was no reality in which Tommy would ever sleep tonight. Not like this...</p><p>“<em>‘Let us break bread together’—</em>that was my first correspondence to you, wasn’t it?” Alfie said quietly.</p><p>“...Yes.”</p><p>Alfie’s hand tightened around Tommy’s. “I fucking knew it. I knew it.”</p><p>“What else do you know?”</p><p>“Fuck, Tommy. Just let me bask in this victory for a little longer, for crying out loud.”</p><p>Tommy closed his eyes, searing the sensation of Alfie’s touch into his mind, like a brand. “All right.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“Go to sleep, Alfie.”</p><p>“I can’t sleep like this, mate. Let go.”</p><p>“No.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A few notes to make:</p><p>1. I've realised, upon writing this fic, that Tommy/Alfie/Tenderness is my OT3, and it is my dream to make them be gentle and soft with each other while keeping them in-character with the story. I hope I've somewhat achieved this. Would love to know what you think.</p><p>2. I know the burn is slow, but I promise you we will get there.</p><p>3. Alfie's scene at the animal shelter was inspired by a video on Youtube of Tom Hardy visiting a shelter :)</p><p>4. This was my favourite chapter yet. I hope you liked as much as I do!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once again, a big thanks to @keine-angst, who beta-read a few scenes in this chapter for a sanity check or two.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Alfie was already awake, gazing out of the half-open window, when Tommy arose the next day. The sunlight, brazen in its greeting, ambushed Tommy in its entirety by virtue of Alfie having pulled back the curtains. Groaning softly, Tommy covered his eyes with his arm.</p><p>“Was wondering if you’d ever wake at all,” was Alfie’s response when he’d noticed Tommy, lightly amused.</p><p>“You been up long?”</p><p>“Long enough to think.”</p><p>Tommy sat up, frowning a little. “About?”</p><p>Turning back to the window, Alfie said, “I’d thought coming here, right, coming to Camden Town would at least give some sort of inkling, clue, reminder—or whatever the fuck you want to call it—of the person who’d shot me. But of course there’s fucking nothing. Nothing.”</p><p>Tommy couldn’t see his expression, for Alfie had turned away, but he imagined it’d be one of frustration, annoyance, and a little disappointment. Perhaps Tommy should say something after all, that he’d been the one Alfie was wondering about this entire time, yet the mere thought of it evoked a dread so caustic he yearned for a cigarette if only to keep his nerves in check.</p><p>Would Alfie welcome the truth, or despise him for hiding it for so fucking long?</p><p>Tommy quelled the notion swiftly, like snuffing out a light.</p><p>After breakfast, Tommy retrieved his car and drove back to Ada's house, whilst Alfie departed for Margate.</p><p>“Suppose I'll see you around, mate,” Alfie had said to him amidst the bustle of the city; when, exactly, they would see each other again, Tommy wasn’t quite sure. They hadn’t talked about it.</p><p>They also hadn’t talked about the past two days: seeing each other at their most raw, nursing wounds with whisper-loud touches and words just as quiet, ever chaste and fragile yet more tangible than anything else Tommy had ever had—<em>God, </em>if only he knew what Alfie had been thinking then. What he was thinking now, on his journey back to Margate.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy and Charlie arrived back at Arrow House in the afternoon. The serenity of the countryside, which was all Charlie had known before their venture to London, seemed to bother the child on his first few days back.</p><p>“Dad, it’s lonely here. I don’t like it,” Charlie said to him once, when Tommy was bidding him good night.</p><p>“It’s our home, Charlie.”</p><p>“But there’s no Aunt Ada or Karl. There’s just me.”</p><p>“We can visit them anytime you want. Sometimes, they come to us. We talked about this.” Tommy hoped it was the right thing to say; Ada would’ve known. Alfie too, likely...</p><p>Charlie nodded solemnly. “Can you sleep here tonight, dad?”</p><p>“Of course. If that helps.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy awoke to Charlie nudging him on the arm. “What is it?” Tommy muttered, blinking in the dark.</p><p>“I want to see Cyril.” Charlie’s voice quivered. “Is he all right?”</p><p>“He’s fine.” Tommy sat up, observing the boy, who seemed about to cry. “What about Buddy? Do you not like him?”</p><p>“I love Buddy,” Charlie said quietly. “But I love Cyril too. Is that wrong?”</p><p>Tommy closed his eyes, letting out a sigh. “No, it’s not wrong.”</p><p>“Then why can’t I see him?”</p><p>“You can, Charlie,” Tommy said before he fully registered the meaning of his promise. “Shall we talk about this in the morning? Go back to sleep, please.”</p><p>“All right.”</p><p>Tommy pressed a kiss to Charlie’s forehead. “Good boy.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At daybreak, Tommy called Alfie on the telephone.</p><p>“Do you know what time it is, mate?” Alfie said when he picked up. “The point of retirement, Tom, is we no longer have the obligation to rise with the fucking sun.”</p><p>“We’re coming today.”</p><p>“Do you miss me already? That was awfully quick, wasn’t it.” A pause. “Wait, we? Who the hell is <em>we</em>?”</p><p>“Charlie. My son.” Tommy toyed with the unlit cigarette in his hand. “He wants to see the dog.” <em>And I want to see you.</em></p><p>For an absurd moment, he thought Alfie was about to refuse.</p><p>“Right. Yeah, sure thing,” Alfie said. “Should I, uh, keep anything in mind?”</p><p>“You’re fine.” Tommy turned away, unable to hide a smile, before remembering Alfie couldn’t even see him, being on the fucking phone and all. Christ.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy brought Charlie with him to Margate later that day, as promised. At Alfie’s front door, Charlie fidgeted next to Tommy as he unlocked the door with his copy of Alfie’s key.</p><p>“Is Cyril really here?” Charlie asked, voice small and uncertain.</p><p>The door clicked open, and Charlie’s question was answered when Cyril bounded down the hallway towards them in greeting. Alfie followed languidly behind him.</p><p>Charlie lit up at Cyril’s presence, and he hugged the dog tightly, giggling at Cyril’s sloppy kisses.</p><p>“Charlie, this is Alfie,” Tommy said once the dog had calmed down somewhat, gesturing to Alfie, who hovered a few paces away. “The friend I’ve told you about. Do you remember?”</p><p>The boy nodded, reticent, as he usually was around strangers. “Hello.” He clutched at Tommy’s leg, half-hiding behind him.</p><p>“It’s nice to finally meet you, Charlie,” Alfie said. “Your dad talks about you a lot, he does.”</p><p>Charlie looked up at Tommy. “Do you really?”</p><p>Well...</p><p>“Why don’t you go play with Cyril in the sitting room, eh?”</p><p>So Charlie did, whilst Tommy and Alfie observed them idly from the balcony, sharing a cigarette between them—more so Alfie pinching it from Tommy’s fingers at inopportune times, actually.</p><p>“He loves the dog more than you, Tom. That much is obvious,” Alfie said after a taking drag on Tommy’s cigarette.</p><p>“I don’t blame him for it.”</p><p>Alfie regarded him, incredulous. “Fuck, I was joking. Work on your self-worth, why don’t you.”</p><p>And wasn’t that easier said than done.</p><p>Shrugging, Tommy lit himself another smoke to stop it from being stolen by Alfie now and then, who seemed to revel in testing Tommy’s patience, just as he used to.</p><p>Just as he used to...</p><p>“Did it help at all? Camden Town,” Tommy found himself asking.</p><p>Alfie glanced away, shoulders slumping a little. “Maybe, maybe not. Fuck knows.”</p><p>“Worth the try.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’d say,” Alfie said, and proceeded to tell him about Edna’s suggestion on journaling his experience in London and henceforth. “Keeping a fucking diary. Imagine that. As if having a daily schedule wasn’t enough.”</p><p>“What would you write about, eh?” Tommy asked, surprised at his own curiosity.</p><p>“Do I look like one for introspection, Tom?” Alfie’s voice verged on laughter. “Dear diary,” he began, gesturing in mockery, “Tommy Shelby was an elusive cunt today, which is nothing new, but if I have to write something, it might as well be about him, because these thoughts have to go <em>somewhere</em>, right?”</p><p>Tommy’s cigarette fell limp in his fingers. <em>What thoughts?</em>—he almost asked.</p><p>...did Alfie suspect Tommy to be the one who’d shot him after all, or was Alfie alluding to another matter entirely, like—like what had transpired between them in Camden Town, and perhaps even before then?</p><p>Either way—<em>fuck</em>.</p><p>“Such an excellent demonstration of avoidance, Tommy. Proving my point exactly, aren’t you,” Alfie said, his tone abrasive, like the edge of a rusty knife. “Perhaps I should indeed start a diary, you know, to keep count of how many times you don’t own up to what the fuck you want.”</p><p>Right.</p><p>That was what this was about.</p><p>What could Tommy say? That he couldn’t tell Alfie what he wanted, because he was the one who’d put the bullet in him, that he was sorry for hiding it the entire time because<em>,</em> fuck, he didn’t know what Alfie would do if he’d found out it was Tommy all along—</p><p>Charlie came bustling towards the balcony, a monocular in his hand. “Look what I found,” he said, beaming, and held it to his eye the wrong way around.</p><p>Laughing lightly, Alfie adjusted it for him. “That should work better.” He was telling Charlie about watching ships now, and sometimes seagulls, to which Charlie listened with rapt attention, asking questions at every turn.</p><p>The ease with which Alfie connected with him perhaps would’ve pleased Tommy in another time, but here, now, this knowledge only served to worsen the bitterness left by their interrupted conversation; thus, Tommy walked away, and searched for solitude where he could.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>At the pier, Tommy was smoking in the light of imminent dusk, when he heard Charlie’s laugh a distance away; it seemed Charlie and Alfie were walking the dog along the beach. Tommy observed them in silence, and Alfie noticed him, pointed in his direction to inform Charlie of Tommy’s presence.</p><p>They came by not long after. Charlie was petting Cyril some paces away, whilst Alfie settled beside Tommy.</p><p>“You done sulking?” Alfie said, eyes on the horizon.</p><p>“Not sure what you mean.”</p><p>“You’re behaving like a fucking child is what I mean.”</p><p>Tommy halted, chose to focus on the blue wisp of smoke twirling from his cigarette, rather than the intensity of Alfie’s scrutiny. “You think—” the words tripped in his throat <em>for fuck’s sake </em>he ought to pull himself together “—you think I’m avoiding you because of my <em>feelings</em>.”</p><p>“I don’t know what I think. That’s the fucking problem, isn’t it?” Alfie said, raising his voice. “Because you refuse to tell me what the hell is going on, Tom. What you want. And when I infer what you want, you run away. Or, if there’s anything else I’m missing, yeah, now would be a good fucking time to be out with it, mate.”</p><p>Tommy turned away. Was he about to do this? About to admit he’d been hiding the truth of Alfie’s shooter this entire time? Because Alfie already was remembering more with every passing day and if Tommy didn’t tell Alfie himself before it was too late, then he knew, without a doubt, that Alfie would be fucking furious and there might not be any coming back from that but perhaps it wouldn’t matter because he would be mad either way—</p><p>“I was the one who shot you, Alfie.”</p><p>There.</p><p>Alfie blinked. “What?”</p><p>“At this beach. I put a bullet in you. Fucked it up. Dragged you to the hospital. Now here we are.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, like he was a passenger in a train heading for the fucking cliff—</p><p>Alfie was frowning at him now, brows pulled together in bewilderment and disbelief. “Tom, what the fuck? What are you—”</p><p>“You asked me, Alfie. You asked me to kill you.” The ground all was but spinning beneath his feet from how hard his heart was pounding. He gripped the railing, steadying himself. “You wanted to die. Before the cancer could take you. I didn’t want to fucking <em>do </em>it but what choice did I have? You asked.”</p><p><em>But it’s fine now tell me it’s fine because the cancer is going away so you don’t have to die anymore so just say you don’t despise me for hiding it this entire fucking time. I can live with everyone else hating me but not you not </em>you<em>—</em></p><p>“Tom.” Alfie was staring at him, concerned. “Tommy, breathe.”</p><p>He breathed. The world continued to falter around him. His knuckles were white from his grip. His fingers hurt.</p><p>“Dad, are you all right?” Charlie was beside him now, having run over from where he’d been with Cyril near the sand—Tommy had forgotten Charlie was here at all...</p><p>Tommy sucked in a sharp breath, closing his eyes. “I’m fine, Charlie. Sorry.”</p><p>Charlie put his arms around Tommy tightly. “Are you sad?”</p><p>“No, I’m not sad,” he managed to say as he returned the hug, “I’m—scared. But that’s all right. I’m fine.” Feeling Alfie’s heavy gaze on him, Tommy forced himself to meet his eyes, not quite knowing what he would see as he did. He tightened his embrace around Charlie.</p><p>Alfie gave him a soft nod of acknowledgment, and the tension in Tommy’s chest ebbed, like the tide.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The housekeeper was setting the dinner table by the time they returned to Alfie’s house. Alfie proceeded to prepare Cyril’s food bowl, which Charlie gladly followed to watch. The boy knelt a few paces away from Cyril as he ate, observing.</p><p>Tommy idled on the edge of the room with a small smile. Alfie joined him at his side, back against the wall. “You all right?” Alfie asked. The hesitation in his voice was rather unfamiliar.</p><p>It was fucking ridiculous, really, that Alfie was concerned about Tommy when it ought to be the other way around...</p><p>“Yeah. Can we—talk about this later?”</p><p>Alfie appraised him in silence, before he eventually said, “I’ll hold you to that, Tommy. I fucking will. No running this time, yeah?”</p><p>“Fuck off, Alfie.”</p><p>A smile. “Good.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was past nightfall, and by the time Tommy stepped out of the bath, Alfie was putting Charlie to bed. Quietly, Tommy hovered by the half-open door to the guest room as Alfie told Charlie a story, in that fanciful way of his, of how he’d adopted Cyril back in the day—which Alfie apparently remembered now, a fact Tommy registered faintly in the back of his mind.</p><p>After Charlie had dozed off, Alfie turned off the lamp beside the bed and left the room.</p><p>“He wanted to turn in, but you were, well, preoccupied. Hope that’s all right, mate,” Alfie said, pulling the door barely-shut to let through a sliver a light.</p><p>“It’s fine.”</p><p>With his eyes Tommy traced the shadows on Alfie’s hand, which remained on the door knob, until he let it fall to his side. They lingered in the corridor amidst a silence not quite uncomfortable nor unpleasant, yet awkward all the same...</p><p>Was Alfie waiting for Tommy to say something, to pick up where they’d left off, now that they had a moment to themselves? Where would he even start?</p><p>“I’m not sure what to say,” was what Tommy decided on; it was honest if nothing else.</p><p>Alfie looked away. “You don’t have to, Tom. Say anything else, that is.” There was nothing more Tommy wanted, in this moment, than to see his face. “Sure, that was a hell of a bomb you dropped on me, but in the end, you know what I realised? It doesn’t fucking matter.” He’d turned back to Tommy now, his expression kindling a peculiar sort of comfort that Tommy didn’t want to ignore...</p><p>“You wondered for so long.”</p><p>“And I no longer have to,” Alfie said, “but so what? Changed nothing, did it. Well, except now I know it fucking killed you, so believe me when I say that is more than enough, mate.”</p><p>“What?” If Alfie could stop speaking in fucking riddles—</p><p>Their eyes met, and Alfie’s gaze softened. “What I’m saying is,” he said, stepping closer, and took Tommy’s hand, “you drive me fucking crazy.” His voice had dropped to a near whisper, and he began to stroke the back of Tommy’s hand with his thumb, gently, his touch so little and so much at once.</p><p>There was nothing Tommy could do but stare at their linked hands, then, at Alfie. His face was half-lit by the glow of the lamp in the hallway and Tommy wondered what it’d feel like to kiss him.</p><p>But he didn’t have to wonder for long, because the next thing he knew Alfie was kissing him, tentatively, and his lips were soft and warm and everything Tommy had imagined them to be and better. Alfie pulled away a little, as though expecting Tommy to change his mind.</p><p>“Don’t stop,” Tommy whispered, and brought their mouths together again, just as gently as Alfie had done, and there was nothing else that felt so much like a dream. For a moment, Tommy wondered if any of this was real, so he paused, sinking his hand into Alfie’s hair, burying his face into the curve of Alfie’s neck, breathing him in, ensuring he was indeed <em>here</em>.</p><p>“Tom?” The sound of his own name rumbled against Tommy’s lips above Alfie’s throat.</p><p>“I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing,” Tommy mumbled against his beard, its coarseness an ever stark contrast to the softness of his mouth. “Don’t know what the fuck we’re doing.”</p><p>“Tommy, Tommy,” Alfie said, laughing quietly, as if to himself. “You think too much.”</p><p>Tommy closed his eyes, pressed their foreheads together. “I’ve been told.” They remained so for a little while, basking in the luxury of each other’s presence, letting the world recede to an afterthought.</p><p>“Go back to your lad,” Alfie said eventually as he pulled back, reluctant. “Shouldn’t let him wake up alone in a place he doesn’t know.”</p><p>Tommy sighed. “You’re right. And I fucking hate that you’re right.”</p><p>They stumbled into yet another silence, a little less awkward this time, and finally Alfie started to walked away, though not without a final glance over his shoulder.</p><p>Tommy closed the door behind him with a small smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh my god. That was very difficult to write. I changed my mind so MANY times on how I wanted everything to happen. As usual, I'd love to hear your thoughts if you've any to share!</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Last chapter, everyone! I know it originally said 11 chapters, but when I was writing this, I changed my mind :)</p><p>And here is a mood board, because it's the final chapter and I wanted to celebrate a little... :) It's a different board, but I reused a few pictures from the first one because I liked them a lot! </p><p>I hope you'll enjoy the rest of this story :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</div><p>At the behest of both Alfie and Charlie, Tommy was roped into a meditation session the next morning, with Alfie wanting Tommy to join if only to vex him, and Charlie longing for his participation for no other reason than ‘the more the merrier’.</p><p>Having moved aside the furniture, they sat in a loosely-formed circle in the living room, and began at Edna’s initiation of the practice.</p><p>Something about focusing on breathing, on the present—Tommy vaguely kept in mind. Though it wasn’t long before he took a peek and saw that Charlie was scrunching his eyes shut with a little too much vigour, Edna was appearing peaceful as one ought to be in such a state, and Alfie—seated across from Tommy—was observing him with mild amusement.</p><p>“What,” Alfie said, unabashed, “watching you is more interesting, isn’t it.”</p><p>That was hardly the point of meditation, Tommy wanted to say, but caught the way Edna was smiling her knowing smile again, with her eyes closed.</p><p>He wanted a cigarette <em>badly. </em></p><p>Alfie continued to watch him with infuriating brazenness; thus, Tommy matched his stare, unyielding, willed himself to keep his gaze on Alfie’s eyes, rather than those lips, lips he’d kissed last night and had wondered—still wondered—what they would feel like on his bare skin.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was later in the day. They’d walked out of the Margate Hospital, out of Alfie’s final check-up. All was well according to the doctor, and so the tension seeped out of Tommy’s shoulders, one he hadn’t quite realised was there…</p><p>By the hospital's entrance—not too far from where Tommy had left Alfie half-dead, three months ago now—Edna bid them goodbye.</p><p>“Thanks,” Alfie said to her, a little awkwardly and wasn’t it a sight, “Couldn’t have quite done it without you, could I? Well, there’s still a ways to go, but you got me here and that’s fucking something, isn’t it.”</p><p>Smiling, she said, “Couldn’t have done without Thomas either.” She cast Tommy a coy glance, which he pointedly ignored. “Actually, I had time to do a little research when you two were in London, and it wasn’t exactly difficult to find, so I’ve been meaning to ask…” she said, cheeks growing pink, “are you gangsters?” Her curiosity was palpable, and her lack of apprehension was concerning, rather.</p><p>Alfie raised his brows, about to reply with something probably incriminating—</p><p>“It’s time we leave, Edna,” Tommy said, voice firm, though he gave her a small smile to soften his words somewhat. “Goodbye.”</p><p>She took the hint well enough.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Do we have to go, dad?” Charlie asked as Tommy refueled the car, which was parked in front of Alfie’s house.</p><p>“Yes, Charlie. We don’t want to overstay our welcome.”</p><p>“But I like it here,” he said, crestfallen.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Can we visit sometimes, then?”</p><p>He put a hand on Charlie’s head, ruffled up his hair a little. “Of course,” he said, to which Charlie seemed to accept the response and climbed into the backseat without another word.</p><p>After setting aside the now-empty fuel container, Tommy walked back inside Alfie’s house whilst Charlie—who’d already said goodbye—waited in the car.</p><p>“Filled the tank,” Tommy said to Alfie, who was about to step outside to see them off with a freshly-prepared pipe in his hand.</p><p>“Fucking finally. Peace at last.” Alfie smirked in that lazy way of his as he set his pipe alight, took a slow puff. “What now then, Tommy?” he asked through a breath of smoke. It smelled of a musky citrus scent. It smelled of him.</p><p>What now, indeed.</p><p>Tommy wanted to be here, he did, but what was just as real was his life at Warwickshire, and sometimes—though not so much these days—at Birmingham, and even London, all of which were rather far from this corner of the world, in more ways than one…</p><p>Perhaps they ought to be content with what they had. A five-hour drive each way, once a week or twice a month—didn’t matter, for whatever it was, it would be so little, yet if it was the best they could have, then shouldn’t that be enough?</p><p>So Tommy simply took Alfie’s hand, with less hesitation than he would before last night, and brought it to his lips. Closing his eyes, he breathed against Alfie’s palm, memorising the way it felt against his skin, for the time between this moment of theirs, and the next.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The days at Arrow House passed slowly. It wasn’t long before it became obvious that retirement was terribly boring when there was too much time at hand with too little to do.</p><p>At Warwickshire, there was golf, and there was fishing. Sometimes, Tommy pondered at the idea of hunting game birds and foxes and deer, like toffs seemed to revel in, though it did feel superfluous, and wasn’t it ever true that Tommy had taken enough lives for one person without adding these to his catalogue of sins.</p><p>Tommy and Alfie talked on the phone on occasion; mostly, their conversations consisted of Alfie filling Tommy in on his day, often spiralling into tangents, which Tommy listened to regardless, though here and there he caught himself paying more heed to Alfie’s voice than his words.</p><p>Tommy usually didn’t say much, but that was all right, because when he passed the telephone to Charlie, the boy certainly talked more than enough for the both of them.</p><p>The next time Tommy visited Margate, Charlie had provided him no choice but to bring him along again. When they arrived at Alfie’s house, the boy greeted Alfie with an enthusiasm Tommy himself hadn’t been the recipient of, and wasn’t that something.</p><p>At Margate, they did nothing out of the ordinary—walked along the beach, watched ships, had a gander around town whilst taking Cyril out for the day—yet it did feel to Tommy like anything but the ordinary…</p><p>This time, Tommy and Charlie stayed for two nights instead of one, and before long, they would be back at Warwickshire again, wondering if they’d made the right choice.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy awoke amidst the oblivion of night, found himself in the familiar silence of Arrow House. Familiar, but not quite welcome.</p><p>The dreams had come again. Dreams that threatened to squeeze the breath out of his lungs until he was left gasping, dreams that scratched at the walls of his waking mind like rats in an attic, dreams that made him wish to fucking hell that he had Alfie to hold onto if only for an instant.</p><p>Tommy grasped for his bottle of whiskey in the dark, but reached for the telephone instead.</p><p>“What,” Alfie said after he picked up, voice thick with the burden of being awake at this hour.</p><p>Closing his eyes, Tommy leaned into his chair, and listened.</p><p>“Did you call me just to <em>not </em>say anything, mate?”</p><p>“Got nothing to say.” If Tommy let himself drift away enough, he could almost picture it: the salt breeze, the breaking of waves, the smokey citrus scent from Alfie’s pipe.</p><p>“Well, me neither, seeing as it’s three in the morning, isn’t it.” Alfie’s voice was half-sardonic, half-soft. “You good, Tom?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Tommy heard him yawn over the line. “I’m beat, so unless you want to listen to me sleep over the bloody telephone, I suggest we hang up, yeah?”</p><p>“Stay on the phone, Alfie.”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Sleep.”</p><p>A pause. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: you’re fucking strange, you know that, Thomas? ”</p><p>“I’m fine with being strange.”</p><p>A dry, quiet laugh. “You silly boy.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Another week had passed before Tommy decided enough was enough; it wasn’t by virtue of a sudden revelation, more so an eventual acknowledgement of his reality, one that had made room for Alfie somewhere along the way, so much so that Alfie’s absence was but a crippling void…</p><p>“I will see you by the pier, Alfie,” Tommy said after Alfie answered the phone on a cloudy brisk morning.</p><p>“What the fuck?”</p><p>“I will see you. By the pier.” Tommy ended the call, headed for his car, and had to stop himself from flooring the gas pedal.</p><p>It had started to rain by the time Tommy arrived at the beach. True to their agreement, Alfie was waiting by the pier. He glanced at Tommy upon his arrival, mouth lifting in a wry smile. “This better be fucking good, Tom.”</p><p>“I’m buying a house. Here.” The words didn’t sound quite real even as he'd said them...</p><p>Alfie remained still for a moment, in contemplation, and when he looked back at Tommy through the rain, his smile had turned a little warmer. “Good plan, that. Would save you a great deal of petrol and time, it would indeed, and time...time is the one thing money can’t buy, isn’t it.”</p><p>Shrugging, Tommy joined him at his side, about to light a cigarette before remembering it was raining—heavier now, in fact. So he closed his eyes instead, let the water fall on his cheeks and slide down his skin. The wind was sharp in this weather, chilling him to his core, and there was never another time he felt so alive.</p><p>“You fucking sadist,” Alfie said beside him. “You enjoy being soaked to the bone, Tom?”</p><p>Tommy opened an eye to look at him, gaze following the droplets of rain as they trickled down the planes of Alfie’s face, smooth and rough at once. Alfie seemed like he was caught between wanting to scowl and smile, and Tommy wanted him to fucking smile God damn it, so he leaned in and kissed him on the mouth.</p><p>The kiss was cold and wet, and he felt Alfie smile against his lips.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The first evening they had with each other and no one else, they didn’t bother drying themselves off before putting their hands and mouth all over one another, swathed in the half-light of dusk that peeked into Alfie’s bedroom.</p><p>“Took fucking long enough,” Alfie mumbled into Tommy’s shoulder, hands pawing across his chest, down the length of his body, along his hips, where Alfie’s grip settled around as he pressed Tommy against the wall—God, was this happening?</p><p>Tommy buried a hand in Alfie’s hair, tilted his head up to kiss him again, deeper this time. Alfie’s mouth was warm and wanting as he gasped into Tommy’s kiss and it was all the confirmation Tommy needed that yes, it was indeed happening <em>Jesus fucking Christ. </em></p><p>Tugging at Alfie’s shirt, Tommy yanked it so hard a few buttons broke loose. “Sorry,” he muttered against Alfie’s throat, pulled the fabric away from Alfie’s shoulders.</p><p>Alfie grunted in response, continued to kiss a line along Tommy’s jaw, before Tommy caught his mouth again, roughly, their teeth bumping for an instant. “Easy,” Alfie whispered, pulling back with a smirk. “Where’s that patience, Tom?”</p><p>“I’m fucking tired of waiting.” Tommy clutched at the seam of Alfie’s pants. Why the hell were they still on for fuck’s sake—</p><p>Against the wall Alfie pinned him still with his hips, hands curling around Tommy’s wrists. Alfie’s cock was hard against Tommy’s thigh, through the fabric of their clothes. God, Tommy wanted him. Here. Now.</p><p>“Been waiting for bloody months, what’s another moment, hmm?” Alfie placed a kiss on the corner of Tommy’s mouth, so lightly the touch barely skirted. The <em>fucker</em>. “Easy,” Alfie said again, voice scraping against the back of his throat.</p><p>Fine. If slow and steady was what Alfie wanted…</p><p>Eyes fluttering shut, Tommy relaxed against the heat of Alfie’s body, warm and true and solid before him. Alfie loosened his grip and held a hand beneath Tommy’s chin, brushing their mouths together, softly. Tommy leaned into him, breathing the air from Alfie’s lungs, running his tongue gently across Alfie’s bottom lip. It was soft, a little red and tender from the ravaging of Tommy’s mouth.</p><p>“You’re fucking beautiful,” Alfie mumbled into the kiss. “Let me have you, slowly. Will you give me that, Tom?”</p><p>Tommy paused, meeting Alfie’s gaze in the descending darkness. Alfie’s blue-grey eyes were awash with want and there was nothing else so surreal. Tommy cemented this picture into his mind. “I’ll give you everything, Alfie. Fucking everything.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The night was calm; the rain had long stopped, and all was quiet around them except for the waves beyond Alfie’s window and the sound of their breathing.</p><p>“Do you remember?” Tommy asked into the dark, eyes closed. “The shooting.”</p><p>Beside him, Alfie remained silent for so long that Tommy stole a glance towards him. “Yeah,” he said eventually, “I think so. I brought Cyril, didn’t I. Fucking hell.”</p><p>“You brought the dog, yes.”</p><p>A pause, then— “Sorry. For making you do it. Rather inconsiderate of me, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>Tommy found Alfie’s hand in the dark, gave it a tight squeeze, and didn’t let go.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They went house-hunting the next morning.</p><p>Not quite knowing what he was looking for, Tommy simply drove around the neighbourhood with Alfie, stopping whenever they came across any properties for sale.</p><p>As it happened, none of them was all too impressive, and there weren’t many to choose from in the first place. There was one that caught Tommy’s interest, however—a modestly-sized house on the same street Alfie lived on, except it wasn’t for sale. In a usual circumstance, anyway.</p><p>Tommy pulled up regardless. After he studied the building before them for a moment longer than he’d done for any other house prior, Alfie asked, “What, you gonna write a blank cheque and tell them to fuck off?”</p><p>And so, Tommy did just that.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The following day, Tommy left Alfie’s house to sort out other facets of his life before he took off with the one that belonged at Margate.</p><p>Ada was staring at him from across the table in her sitting room. “How many cups of tea do you plan to drink before you tell me why you’re here?”</p><p>“Tea. Not gin, or whiskey. Aren’t you relieved?”</p><p>Ada wasn’t amused, though she was smiling a little as she said, “That’s a good point, actually.”</p><p>He set down his cup. “I’m moving to Margate. Bought a house two days ago.”</p><p>She gaped at him, closed her mouth, looked away, then back at him again. “Tommy, what—”</p><p>“Alfie. You remember him.”</p><p>“Has he gotten worse? Is he...dying?” Her eyes widened. “Tommy, are you all right?”</p><p>He stared at her. Why did everyone keep asking him that? “I’m fine, Ada. He’s fine, too. I just—I’ll be with him.”</p><p>She studied him for what seemed like fucking ages, and it was all he could do to keep from fidgeting. He lit a cigarette instead. Eventually, Ada said, “What I’m getting out of this, Tommy, is you’re selling Arrow House, leaving your fucking life behind, to be with—with Alfie. Oh my God.”</p><p>“I’m keeping the house. But the rest of it…” He shrugged.</p><p>“Right,” Ada said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Are you—are you going to tell Polly and the rest? Goodness, Arthur is gonna kill you, Tommy. He hates the guy.”</p><p>“No one else knows he’s alive.”</p><p>“All right then,” Ada said a beat later, her gaze softening. She watched him for a short while, a little smile playing at her lips, before she said, “I’m happy for you, Tommy. I am.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Charlie,” Tommy said, sitting on the edge of Charlie’s bed. “Would you like to live closer to Cyril?”</p><p>The boy had been nuzzling against Buddy, who was kissing him a hearty—and sloppy—good night. At the mention of Cyril, Charlie perked up. “Can I do that? Live with Cyril? And Buddy?”</p><p>“Not with, but close,” he said, idly brushing a stray strand of hair from Charlie’s face. “Buddy can come with. Frances too, if you’d like.”</p><p>Charlie all but jumped off the bed in his eagerness to hug Tommy.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was a misty morning at Warwickshire. Tommy and Charlie stood before Arrow House as the car was being prepared for the journey.</p><p>“Will we come back again?” Charlie asked, looking up at Tommy.</p><p>He took a slow drag on his cigarette. “We will. It’s still our home, Charlie. But it won’t be our only one.”</p><p>“Will you miss it here, dad?”</p><p>Through a veil of exhaled smoke, Tommy observed the house before them. Grace’s house. Her memory would always reside here, and for that… “Yes, I’ll miss it here.”</p><p>Charlie put his arms around him. “Me too.”</p><p>When the car was ready, Tommy ushered Charlie into the passenger seat, and let Buddy into the back.</p><p>Before Tommy knew it, Arrow House grew smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, until it disappeared into the horizon.</p><p>It was his longest drive to Margate yet, and after what felt like fucking forever and a day, they reached the newly-acquired house, which was a few doors down from Alfie’s. There was a lorry parked in front of it, and tradesmen were moving pieces of new furniture from the vehicle into the building.</p><p>Alfie was observing from the side, muttering instructions of where things ought to go. Upon Tommy and Charlie’s arrival, he gave a small wave, about to say something, but was interrupted when Cyril ran past him towards Charlie to welcome the boy with unparalleled devotion.</p><p>Tommy left Charlie to play with the dogs, and appraised the house in front of him with an idle smile.</p><p>A new home in a new town…</p><p>It’d been a while since he’d felt this way; the years since he’d relocated to Warwickshire were so distant now.</p><p>It wasn’t until a fair moment later that Tommy noticed Alfie was watching him. Alfie tended to do that, it seemed. Tended to look at Tommy like he was never going to get another chance to catch a glimpse.</p><p>But he would, wouldn’t he? There would be plenty of time for that now, and more.</p><p>Their eyes locked in the mid-afternoon light, and if it were up to either of them, maybe—just maybe—they would never look away again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much for your support on this journey! That was incredibly fun to write, and probably the happiest and fluffiest ending I've ever written. &lt;3</p><p>As usual, I'd love to know what you thought of this story &lt;3</p><p>Find me on Tumblr per the note below. And if you have any prompts, feel free to drop them in my Tumblr box!! :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A tender, fluffy epilogue is what happens when: </p><p>1) I miss writing a particular story<br/>2) I don't have any other plot ideas to write about<br/>3) I'm in a fluffy mood</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Memories; they came and went, these days.</p><p>A dissipating fog. A rushing tide. Recollections so elusive yet vivid at once. Alfie had fucking hated it at first, this stupid game of hide-and-seek with his mind. Complained all damned day to Tommy—who listened, bless him, but if Tommy could listen to Alfie <em>sleep </em>he could listen to anything—but now…</p><p>They were a part of him now, weren’t they, these ebbs and flows. Thus, Alfie decided one morning: fuck it, he’d take Edna’s awful advice, start keeping a journal and capture these fleeting memories in a fucking book like fireflies in a jar.</p><p>This way, he’d never forget that rainy morning when Tommy had told him he was moving to Margate and kissed him like soppy dears in a soppy story rather than cutthroat gangsters in a cutthroat world, and he’d never forget that hazy evening when Alfie had pressed him up against the wall and loved him, loved him so fucking much Alfie hadn’t known himself to be capable of such a thing.</p><p>So he put his pen on paper, black ink imprinting the first of forever-moments.</p><p>
  <em>14th November 1926,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Feel like a fucking idiot doing this but needs must…</em>
</p><p>“You’re missing ‘dear diary’,” Tommy said when he sidled up beside him a while later, nonchalant, a puff of smoke leaving with his words.</p><p>“Fuck off, thanks,” Alfie said. “I’m being productive here, whilst you, yeah, you’re being distracting.”</p><p>Tommy leaned against the desk Alfie was working on, fingers toying with the cigarette. “You’ve written a lot.” He held the cigarette to Alfie’s lips and let him take a drag.</p><p>“Well, a lot has happened, hasn’ it?” Alfie exhaled a breath of smoke at Tommy, if only to watch Tommy’s mouth twitch in annoyance. “Warrants pages of writing, mate.”</p><p>Tommy shrugged. There was a smile somewhere if Alfie looked a little closer. Always so coy with his smiles Tommy was; all the more important when Alfie did manage to catch one, so he put away his pen and pulled Tommy down for a kiss, and between the bitter tang of tobacco and sweetness of chamomile tea, Alfie could taste his smile.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Sometimes, Tommy dreamed of bad things.</p><p>What, specifically, Alfie hadn’t asked. It could be the war. Or his dead wife. Or the lives that had bled out to the slash of his razor or the bullet of his gun.</p><p>Ultimately, it didn’t matter, did it; it wasn’t as if by knowing the cause of such torment Alfie could wish it away into a puff of bloody nothing.</p><p>So when Tommy startled awake one night, grasped for Alfie in the dark with his sweat-slicked grip, fingers and bones pressing, digging into Alfie’s hand so hard it hurt, there was nothing Alfie could do but be there and hope to fucking god it was enough.</p><p>“Sorry,” Tommy mumbled into Alfie’s shoulder, his breath branding words and prayers unsaid into Alfie's skin, and Alfie wanted to see his face, <em>badly</em>. “This is fucking embarrassing.”</p><p>“If you weren’t such a mess right now, I’d be insulted by that, wouldn’t I,” Alfie said lightly. “You, embarrassed around me—what are we, bloody strangers?”</p><p>Tommy loosened his grip a little, started tracing light circles on Alfie’s palm with his thumb, until his hand fell away gently as his breathing slowed to a steady push and pull.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Alfie,” Charlie said as he followed Alfie around Tommy’s house to search for kibble to feed the dogs with, “does dad love you like he loved mum?”</p><p>Alfie paused in his steps and looked down at Charlie. “What raised that question, lad, hmm?”</p><p>Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, taking Alfie’s hand as he led them to hopefully what was the storage area for everything dog. “Mummy made him happy. You make him happy.”</p><p>“Right,” Alfie said as they arrived in front of a cupboard. “I’m happy to know that I make him happy, Charlie.”</p><p>What a fucking convoluted way to say Tommy and Alfie loved each other. Nonetheless.</p><p>Charlie opened the cupboard to reveal the bag of kibble. “Frances keeps Buddy’s food in here.” He watched as Alfie scooped some of it into the dog bowl. “Dad loves you like he loves mum then. Is that right?”</p><p>“I’d like to think so, yes. What about you?”</p><p>The boy smiled shyly and nodded.</p><p>Tommy appeared around the corner, a lead dangling in his hand. “I thought we were going to walk the dogs.”</p><p>“In a minute,” Alfie said. “The dogs still need to eat, don’t they. And Charlie and I were talking about important things, Tom.”</p><p>Tommy raised a brow. “What things?”</p><p>“Important things, dad,” Charlie said, grinning. “Secret things.”</p><p>Alfie and Tommy’s eyes met, and Alfie shrugged at him.</p><p>“Secret things, eh,” Tommy said to Charlie, smiling a little. “I’ll leave you two to it then.”</p><p>“We’ll call you when we’re ready,” Alfie said.</p><p>Tommy waved the lead in his hand, and disappeared down the hallway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Writing this story from Alfie's perspective felt weird, in a good way. It was fun though! Hope you enjoyed this snapshot of their lives, after. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Bonus content: artworks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been drawing lots of Tommy/Alfie fanart lately, and I thought, why not do some for this fic? :D I kind of miss it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Artwork 1: Chapter 10, Tommy and Alfie at the pier.</p><p>
  <span class="u">Excerpt:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m buying a house. Here.” The words didn’t sound quite real even as he'd said them...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alfie remained still for a moment, in contemplation, and when he looked back at Tommy through the rain, his smile had turned a little warmer. “Good plan, that. Would save you a great deal of petrol and time, it would indeed, and time...time is the one thing money can’t buy, isn’t it.”</em>
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</div><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Artwork 2: Epilogue, Alfie writing his first journal entry.</p><p>
  <span class="u">Excerpt:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>So he put his pen on paper, black ink imprinting the first of forever-moments.</em>
</p><p>14th November 1926,</p><p>Feel like a fucking idiot doing this but needs must…</p><p>
  <em>“You’re missing ‘dear diary’,” Tommy said when he sidled up beside him a while later, nonchalant, a puff of smoke leaving with his words.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Fuck off, thanks,” Alfie said. “I’m being productive here, whilst you, yeah, you’re being distracting.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tommy leaned against the desk Alfie was working on, fingers toying with the cigarette. “You’ve written a lot.” He held the cigarette to Alfie’s lips and let him take a drag.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, a lot has happened, hasn’ it?”</em>
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</div><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Artwork 3: Epilogue, Alfie and Charlie.</p><p>
  <span class="u">Excerpt:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>“Alfie,” Charlie said as he followed Alfie around Tommy’s house to search for kibble to feed the dogs with, “does dad love you like he loved mum?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alfie paused in his steps and looked down at Charlie. “What raised that question, lad, hmm?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Charlie shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said, taking Alfie’s hand as he led them to hopefully what was the storage area for everything dog. “Mummy made him happy. You make him happy.”</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you liked these! I had lots of fun drawing them :)</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on Tumblr at <a href="https://strawberriez8800x.tumblr.com/">@strawberriez8800x</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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